A Rude Awakening
by DrPraetorious
Summary: Scott Summers, better known as Cyclops, wakes up on a hospital bed with no memory of how he got there or how long he's been there. He doesn't know who to trust or where to find help. It's better than it sounds! Up to Chapter 26.
1. Blind

The first thing he noticed as he slid into consciousness was the sound of people talking. Their voices were muffled, however, and they seemed to be far away. There was a beep, and the man cringed. The last vestiges of sleep shook clear of his mind. He stretched his legs, and noticed that they were sore and weak. _I guess I overdid it last night_, he thought to himself.

Something about his surroundings seemed odd. His sheets were too rough and stiff. The light was on in the room, and he kept his eyes shut tightly. In a motion obtained through many years of habit, he reached for his glasses on the nigfrom his gut. He choked back his nausea, and he dropped his hands to his sides quickly.

"Emma?" he said aloud. He was surprised by the sound of his own voice. It was weak and barely audible, not the commanding and authoritative voice he was used to hearing at all. He cleared his throat. Pain seared through his esophagus, and he noticed for the first time the horrendous taste in his mouth. "Emma, are you there?" he said, his voice only slightly louder.

"Is anybody there?" he said, sounding increasingly desperate. He raised his left hand with effort and began exploring the edge of the bed he was laying in. Heing from his gut. He choked back his nausea, and he dropped his hands to his sides quickly.

"Emma?" he said aloud. He was surprised by the sound of his own voice. It was weak and barely audible, not the commanding and authoritative voice he was used to hearing at all. He cleared his throat. Pain seared through his esophagus, and he noticed for the first time the horrendous taste in his mouth. "Emma, are you there?" he said, his voice only slightly louder.

"Is anybody there?" he said, sounding increasingly desperate. He raised his left hand with effort and began exploring the edge of the bed he was laying in. He felt the tell-tale bars of a hospital bed. Reaching slowly, testing the limits of the IV in his arm, he found a nightstand. His fingers probed the surface but found nothing.

"Hello?" he said, his voice straining but still barely above a whisper.

Footsteps entered the room.

"Where am I?" he said to the stranger who'd entered. There was a sharp intake of breath and then a loud crashing as a metal tray clanged to the ground. He heard a plastic cup fall and roll on the floor as the footsteps rushed out of the room. A woman's voice cried out, "He's awake! Sweet Lord Jesus, he's awake! Tell the doctor, call his wife! He's awake!" The voice grew softer as he imagined she ran further down the hall.

_Wife?_ he thought to himself. He tried to sit up, however he soon realized he lacked the strength. He struggled with his unresponsive abdominal muscles, but at last fell roughly back onto the bed. Frustration and confusion only added to his increasingly panicked mental state.

_Calm down_, he told himself. _There's a rational explanation. There's no need to panic. Everything is okay._

Taking a soothing breath, he forcefully brought himself under control.

Footsteps again rushed into the room, this time several sets. One set, which sounded heavily on the hard floor, approached the side of his bed.

"Mr. Summers?" a man's voice said. "Mr. Summers, are you awake?"

Mr. Summers raised his hand slightly and turned his head. A couple of people closer to the door gasped. "Where am I?" Mr. Summers asked.

"We'll get to that, son. First, we have to make sure you're okay," the man replied, trying to sound relaxing and comforting. "My name is Doctor Maguire."

"Doctor?" Mr. Summers said. "Why am I in a hospital? What happened?" He tried to rise up from the bed again. Dr. Maguire gently pressed on the patient's shoulders, lowering him back onto the bed.

"Just relax. There will be time for all that."

Mr. Summers felt suddenly very weak and light-headed. Lacking the strength to argue, he nodded slowly and relaxed back into the pillow. He listened as the doctor rummaged through drawers. Other footsteps circled the bed to check Mr. Summers' IVs and monitors, he assumed.

A tiny, bright light suddenly shined through Mr. Summers' eyelid. He squinted and turned his head.

"Mr. Summers," Dr. Maguire's voice said. "If you could please open your eyes, we can get your examination started."

"I-I can't." Mr. Summers replied in a raspy voice. It was growing increasingly uncomfortable to speak.

"You mean, you aren't able?" the doctor asked, surprised and concerned.

"No. I mean, Yes. I mean... I just can't open my eyes. Not without my glasses." Mr. Summers said.

There was a distinct pause as Mr. Summers shifted nervously under the covers. "Very well," the doctor said. "Perhaps later, then."

"Do you see them?" Mr. Summers asked. "My glasses? Can I have them?"

"No, Mr. Summers. I wasn't aware you wore glasses, and I don't see them anywhere. Perhaps your wife will bring them." Dr. Maguire said. "Now just relax and we'll finish your examination, take some blood, and let you get some rest."

The doctor finished his work in silence, until he finally stepped away from the table and said, "All done. You seem to be in fine health, apart from some weakness. But that's to be expected, isn't it? All in all, I'd say you're a living miracle."

Footsteps approached quickly behind Dr. Maguire. There was some whispering, and then the Doctor excused himself, and both pairs of footsteps left the room. As the room fell again to its relative silence, Mr. Summers felt himself fading in and out of consciousness.

Suddenly, a woman's voice erupted and snapped Mr. Summers awake. "I will NOT wait! Take your hands off me. Don't touch me!" It wasn't a voice Mr. Summers recognized. There was the sound of light scuffle, and a pair of light footsteps ran inside the room, but halted in the doorway. "Scott?" the new woman said. Scott Summers turned his head slowly.

He heard what he imagined to be the woman falling to her knees. She started weeping and that escalated into crying uncontrollably. The sound of her tears shifted as she stood, and then she was on top of Scott, leaning on him from the side of the bed. Her hands clasped his hand and she rained kisses and tears on his forehead, eyes, and lips. "Oh, Scott!" she said between gasps and wails. "I knew you'd come back to us. I just knew you would!"

And then, the woman suddenly moved away from him. "Let go of me!" she yelled. Her fingers dug into Scott's hand.

"Please, Mrs. Summers. He needs rest." Dr. Maguire said.

"Rest?" she yelled, and her crying reached a painful pitch as her hand was pulled away from Scott's. "I love you, Scott! I'll be right here!" she screamed, as she was ushered out of the room.

The intensity of the woman's sadness yanked on Scott's sympathies, and he found himself raising his hand after her. Then, he suddenly grew light-headed again. The sounds around him starting buzzing together, and then there was nothing.

Scott came to and immediately felt the warmth of two hands wrapped around his left hand. The weight of something resting on his leg had his foot throbbing and his lower leg tingling in pain. He grunted and shifted the leg, and could tell right away that he was stronger than he'd been earlier but still quite weak.

When he moved his leg, the weight suddenly lifted, and he heard an intake of breath, like someone being abruptly awoken. There was a soft grunt, clearly a woman's voice, and then the sound of motion as she moved closer to Scott's face.

"Scott?" said the voice of 'Mrs. Summers.' "Scott, honey, I'm here."

She squeezed his hand. He swallowed, and winced at the pain it caused. "Do you want some water?" she asked. Before he could answer, a plastic straw was placed on his lips. He obligingly took a long draw from the cup. The water was cold, and Scott could hear the ice floating around in the large plastic cup. He could feel the cool liquid flow down his throat and rest in his stomach. He took several large drinks before he dropped the straw from his lips.

"Thank you," he said. His voice was stronger and clearer than before. "Tell me, please. Where am I? What happened?"

"You're at the hospital. You've been… You've been in a coma for almost two years." Mrs. Summers said. Her voice was full of emotion, and Scott could hear that the telling of it pained her. However, his curiosity wouldn't allow him to stop her. "The doctors don't know what happened, or why you went… asleep. They ran all kinds of tests on you, and they couldn't find anything wrong. They did a scan of your brain, and they said it was like you were still awake. I didn't understand it all, but they even said it seemed like your brain was working in fast-forward. That's how they described it to me."

"I took you home with me and took care of you, but then three days ago you stopped breathing. I brought you into the hospital, and they ran another brain scan. They said…" She paused, and Scott could hear her fighting back the tears. "They said that you were brain dead. That you were nothing but a vegetable. They wanted me to turn off the machines, but I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't sign their papers. I knew you wouldn't leave us…" she said. She raised Scott's hand to her chest and kneaded it with her fingers.

Scott's brow was furled in confusion. _Two years?_ He thought. _That's impossible. She's lying. Even if I was in a coma, why am I not at the mansion? Where are Emma and Hank, and all the others? They wouldn't just leave me with a strange woman for two years. And who is this woman? And why does she think I'm her husband?_

"Are you okay?" Scott's supposed wife asked, seeming sincerely concerned.

_This must be some kind of trap, or trick._ Scott thought to himself. _Until I find out what's going on, though. I might as well play along._

"I'm okay," he said. "That's just a lot to swallow all at once."

"I know, honey, and I'm sorry." She started running her fingers through Scott's hair lovingly, and then ran her palm down the side of his face. "Why won't you open your eyes, Scott? Why won't you look at me?"

"I can't..." Scott said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. But he also recognized an opportunity. It occurred to him that he might not be in a hospital at all. Without the ability to open his eyes, it wouldn't be hard to trick him into believing whatever his captors wanted him to. If he could get his glasses back, though, he was confident that he could find a way to escape. "I need my glasses," he said. "Are they around here? Have you seen them?"

"Your glasses?" Mrs. Summers replied. "You don't wear glasses. Your vision is perfect."

"Not glasses, sorry. They're sunglasses. With red lenses. Do you see them anywhere?"

"Are you sure you're okay?" Mrs. Summers shifted her weight in her chair. There was definitely concern in her voice.

"Please… Just look for me," Scott said. She shifted in her chair. If she didn't look around, then she did a convincing job of acting at it. A few drawers slid open and closed.

"I don't see any sunglasses at all," she said finally. "But you don't need them. Just open your eyes. Just look at me… Please?" She again gently touched his face, and her fingers traced his cheekbone up to his eye. She very gently tried to pull his eye open.

"No!" Scott yelled. He raised his arm sharply, pushing her hand away, and turned his head away from her. "No, you can't do that!"

There was a silence in the room, and then 'Mrs. Summers' took Scott's hand again. She bent over and raised Scott's hand to her face. He felt tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "Don't be mad. I'm sorry."

Scott wasn't paying much attention anymore. _Why do they keep asking me to open my eyes?_ he thought to himself. _First the doctor asked me to open them, and now my 'wife' does? Are they trying to get me to use my power for some reason?_

As Scott wondered about the possible reasons for his capture, he heard a familiar pair of footsteps enter the room. Doctor Maguire's voice sounded nearby. "How is our patient this morning? Awake again, I see, and looking stronger already. Good. Good. And how are you this morning, Julia?"

Julia Summers released Scott's hand, and he felt her stand up. He heard them both step away from the bed, and Julia began whispering to the doctor. The doctor wasn't as adept at lowering his voice as the young woman. When he replied, Scott heard, "I warned you he might be delirious. It's very common for coma victims to wake up confused. And you know we still haven't ruled out the possibility of brain damage."

This last statement drew out a pitiful sound from Julia. Scott had to give her credit. She was a fabulous actress. He heard them pause, and he quickly tried to act as if he hadn't heard anything at all.

"Since you're doing so well," Dr. Maguire directed to Scott. "…We're going to be removing your feeding tube and catheters later this afternoon. We'll begin physical therapy soon afterwards."

"Physical therapy?" Scott asked, turning his head towards the doctor.

"Yes. You've been in bed for a very long time. Your muscles are atrophied. Weak. But don't worry! We'll have you back on your feet in no time." Scott heard the Doctor turn to leave.

"How long?" Scott called after him. "How long do I have to stay here?"

Scott heard the man's shoes stop and turn slightly. "Oh…" Dr. Maguire said. "As long as it takes…" With that, the footsteps disappeared down the hall.

With supreme effort, and with the help of a rather large man, Scott raised himself up from the wheelchair he'd been sitting in. The nurse assigned to help him with physical therapy took his hands and placed them on two parallel bars that Scott was supposed to use to support himself as he walked. It hadn't taken Scott long to figure out that the doctor was right. Feeling his arms and legs, there was hardly any muscle at all on his bones. He hadn't felt so thin since high school.

"This would be much easier if you would open your eyes, Mr. Summers," the female nurse holding his hands onto the bar said.

"I'm sure it would," Scott replied. _And there it is again_, he thought. _I'm not going to give you what you want. I don't know how you did this to me._ He grunted as he pulled himself forward a step. _But you're going to pay._ He intended to take full advantage of his physical therapy sessions. He was determined to get as strong as he could as quickly as possible. Sweat dripped from his brow underneath the strip of cloth he had tied tightly around his head and stung in his clenched eyes, as he took another painful step. His legs and arms felt like feathers compared to the lead of his own body weight. Trying to support himself seemed like an impossible balancing act. Yet he struggled on. In just two sessions, he was already up and moving, to the apparent astonishment of all of the nursing staff.

A pair of high-heels approached with a determined step. "Mr. Summers, how do you do?" said a woman's voice. "My name is Dr. Langley. I was wondering if we could have a talk together."

Scott examined the voice and determined that this was an intelligent woman, probably young and attractive, who wanted very much for him to think she was polite and interested in his personal well being. All of which meant that Scott had no reason at all to trust her. "Call me Scott," he said. He grunted loudly as he struggled to drag his left foot forward a few inches. The man who'd helped him from the wheelchair placed his hand on Scott's arm, ready to catch him should he fall. "I'm fine!" Scott yelled, turning his face slightly towards the male nurse. "I don't need any help!" The man's hand left Scott's arm.

"He's just doing his job, Mr. Summers. And there's no shame in accepting a little help," said Dr. Langley.

"You said you had something you wanted to talk about?" Scott replied through a clamped jaw.

"It might be better if we spoke in private…"

"Now is fine."

"Very well…" Dr. Langley said, taking a deep breath. "Dr. Maguire has stated that he is very impressed with your progress, but hospital procedures dictate that a man in your particular position has to undergo a psych evaluation before he can be released."

"So the good doctor thinks I'm crazy?" Scott replied. Dr. Langley took a breath and started to speak, but Scott already knew what she was going to say. He cut her off with, "It's okay. Go ahead. Ask your questions." He pushed his right foot frontward and dragged his right hand forward on the pole.

There was the sound of an ink pen clicking and the turning of a page on a notepad. "What do you do for a living, Mr…, excuse me, Scott?"

_Great…_ Scott thought. _How am I supposed to know what to say? I mean, they think I'm married to a woman named Julia, so obviously they don't have much regard for facts. Do I just make something up?_

"Mr. Summers?" Dr. Langley asked.

"I work in law enforcement." Scott's weakened muscles were on fire. His arms started shaking noticeably.

"Mmmhmm," she muttered. Scott heard the sound of a pen on paper. She definitely wrote down more than 'policeman.'

"And what is your wife's name?" she asked.

"Julia. Julia Summers," he stated quickly, glad to have a question he actually knew the answer to. His left hand slipped suddenly on the bar, his legs gave out from under him, and he fell. He cried out, but caught himself by his elbows. Strong hands appeared at his underarms and started lifting. "Get off!" Scott yelled. "I can do it!"

Red-faced and blubbering for air, Scott strained with strength he no longer possessed to raise himself back onto his feet. When he finally righted himself, he stood and gasped to catch his breath.

"Scott, are you sure you want…"

"You said I have to answer your questions before I can leave," he said. His voice was choked and he was clearly getting very tired. "So the sooner the better."

The doctor cleared her throat. There was a pause, but finally she continued. "Do you have any children?"

"Yes. Yes, I do." Scott said. He snickered at the thought that his son was actually older than him, and that his teenage daughter hadn't actually been born yet.

"Why is that funny?" the observant doctor asked as she wrote in her notebook.

"Uh…" Scott faltered. "I'm just trying to laugh through the pain." He wasn't entirely lying. He was in agony. He almost fell again, but his pride wouldn't allow it. He pushed with his arms and kept his feet underneath him. However, he was beginning to realize that it had been unwise to pursue two battles at the same time, especially when he couldn't afford to lose either one. Not if he wanted to get out of this "hospital," and find his real friends and family.

"I see," said Dr. Langley. She continued to write for a few seconds and then asked, "Mr. Summers, why won't you open your eyes?"

"What?" Scott said through teeth clenched so tight they would break. His muscles were getting ready to give. He was going to fall, and he knew he couldn't catch himself.

"Your eyes, why won't you open them?" Dr. Langley asked. From her tone, it was apparent she was at the same time concerned, but she, like Scott, knew an opportunity when she saw one.

"No! You can't have it!" Scott yelled. His outburst cost him the last of his energy. His arms gave out, and he fell roughly to the ground, his legs collapsing under him like rubber bands. His head bounced off of the tiles, and Scott groaned loudly. Tears formed in his eyes and mixed with the sweat in his makeshift blindfold.

Footsteps rushed around him. "Don't touch me!" he yelled. He somehow managed to wave his arms blindly, his fists closed weakly.

"Scott, there's nothing wrong with your eyes." Dr. Langley's soothing, beautiful voice said. From her proximity, she seemed to be kneeling nearby, but she must have been out of reach, because Scott didn't hit her with his erratic swinging. "Are you afraid of what you'll see? Afraid that if you open your eyes then it all won't be a dream?"

"Shut up!" Scott roared at the top of his voice. "Who is doing this to me? Leave me alone!"

"Do it," the psychiatrist's voice said, though it clearly wasn't directed towards Scott. Suddenly, he felt two pairs of powerful hands on his chest.

Scott fought them off as best he could, though panic and fatigue made it a worthless effort. Every time he succeeded in pushing one hand away, or hit a pressure point or muscle, there was another hand on top of him, dragging him away from the bars he lay under. Finally, a hand ripped the blindfold from his head.

"Sinister, I know it's you! You won't win. I won't let you!" Scott screamed, his voice reaching an insane pitch. Hands moved to his face, pulling at the skin around his eyes. Scott pushed and pulled and yanked, and tried to stand, but it was futile. The arms of the nurses felt like steel rods to his clay fingers.

"You need to see that nothing will happen!" Dr. Langley yelled over the commotion. "There's nothing to be scared of!"

"Oh, God… You don't know what you're talking about!" Scott yelled. His worst fear was about to be realized. These men were about to be killed, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. One of the men got a good grip on the skin around Scott's eyes. Pushing down on Scott's skull painfully, he pried on his eyelid. "No!" Scott yelled, his voice positively manic as he felt the skin part.

Nothing happened.

The men, one of which who'd placed his knee on Scott's chest, climbed off of him. One after the other slowly turned and walked away. The last set of footsteps to leave was a pair of high-heels, their steps hesitatant and unsure. Scott lay on the ground, his arms and legs spread wide. The only movement of his body was the convulsing of his chest as he wept uncontrollably.


	2. Look at Me

Scott could feel the morning sun on his face. It had felt refreshing for the first few minutes after the nurse opened the curtains, but now the sun's rays felt increasingly uncomfortable. Scott didn't move, however, or ask that the curtains be closed. He wasn't even fully conscious of the fact that he was sweating under the blankets piled on top of him or that he was even back in bed. Instead, Scott's mind was contemplating what could possibly explain why his power hadn't worked. The incident during his therapy wasn't the first time in his life that he'd opened his eyes and nothing happened, but he could count the number of times on one hand, and usually the reason for it became apparent fairly soon.

Scott couldn't remember the last time he had felt so helpless and confused. The only thing he was sure about was the fact that he couldn't trust anybody or anything. Scott hadn't opened his eyes again since they were forced open. A couple of nurses had eventually come and wheeled him back to his room.

Out of spite, Scott refused to speak to anyone, and ignored the nurse's pleadings for him to eat breakfast. After she carried away his tray, however, he immediately regretted his childish behavior. How was he going to regain his strength if he didn't eat? Needless to say, he was not in the best of moods. When he heard footsteps enter his room, he had to fight the urge to toss his bed pan at the intruder.

"Scott?" came Julia's voice. "Are you awake?"

The urge didn't completely go away. This woman who called herself Julia had been by his bed almost every minute since he'd found himself in this hospital. Most of the time, he just pretended to be asleep. She would pet on his hand and his face and run her fingers through his hair and try to make herself useful for the nurses. The woman was almost sickeningly loyal.

_Like Jean would have been_, Scott thought to himself.

He shook the thought out of his head, and with the sharp physical motion, he knew playing unconscious wasn't going to work this time. "Good morning, Julia," he said and turned his face in her direction.

When she spoke again, Scott could hear the smile in her voice. "It's so good to hear your voice," she said. He heard her setting some things down on the table near his bed, and then felt the now-familiar warmth of her hand on his. He again fought the urge to pull his hand away. _Self-control_, he thought. That's what's going to get me out of here.

"The doctor said you had an… interesting session of physical therapy today," Julia said. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Scott replied.

There was a pause, and then Julia's hand patted Scott's. "I brought a surprise for you today," she said, admirably keeping her voice upbeat.

Scott remained silent, but inwardly he couldn't imagine what she could have brought. He braced himself for a weapon or a syringe heading for his arm. He was ready to grab her hand or anything that came near him.

"Rachel? Come on in, darling. It's okay. Come say hi to daddy," Julia said, obviously facing away from Scott.

"Daddy?" Scott said aloud, and immediately kicked himself for it. He heard the patter of little feet run over to Julia's side. Julia grunted, and Scott felt the weight of a small form sitting on the bed next to him. "Rachel?" Scott mouthed though his voice was caught in his throat..

"Daddy?" a little girl's voice said. She sounded no more than four or five, though Scott was never good at guessing little kids' ages. "Is he awake?" she asked, her voice turned towards her 'mother.'

"Go on." Julia urged Rachel softly. "Give daddy a hug."

Two tiny arms wrapped firmly around Scott's bony neck and shoulders and squeezed with all their might. Scott lifted his left arm and placed his hand on the child's back, and smiled despite himself. He barely even noticed Julia's fingers squeeze his right hand. He was suddenly tossed back to memories of young Nathan. How cruel and yet miraculous that he had received the opportunity to raise his time-tossed son, but at the price of forever being considered more a guardian than a parent. Never did Nathan embrace Scott as this young girl did now. Never did Scott have the joy of being called "Daddy."

The rush of emotions was almost more than Scott could handle in his fragile state. He lived his memories and felt the sand in the rags he'd called clothes, smelled his sweat mixing with the dry and pungent air as the trio traveled through a world so alien and unforgiving.

He re-lived the misery of leaving Nathan a second time, a pain that nearly overshadowed the agony he had felt on the day he had first sent his critically ill son to the future. He'd been convinced that it was his child's only hope for survival. Since that day, Scott had daily struggled with the ethicality of that decision.

The young girl Scott held in his arms represented the decision he'd rejected. The life he never had, and couldn't have as long as he was an X-Man. Jean had learned in the most difficult and heartless way that Scott could never be as loyal to anything or anyone as he was to Xavier's dream and the responsibility he believed that title carried.

A tear streaked down Scott's cheek. The tickling on his face stirred him from his musings. The child must have sensed Scott's sudden discomfort, as she loosed her arms from his neck and scurried behind her mother.

He took a moment to compose himself. "Where has she been staying?" Scott asked. It seemed an appropriate question.

"My mother's," Julia replied. "Well, and she's stayed with John and Lydia some, too."

Scott nodded, but it must have been apparent he didn't recognize the names, for Julia continued, her voice soft, "My brother and his wife."

Scott turned his head away from the pair. He didn't know this woman or this child. This was all an act. A trick. But the woman's pain seemed so real, he couldn't help but feel embarrassed and pained.

"Honey, why don't you go out to the hall and find Grammy," Julia said. Tiny footsteps, walking slowly, headed towards the door. "Shut the door behind you, please." The door creaked and the latch fell into place. The constant hum of the hospital corridor lessened. The room was almost completely silent.

"You don't remember her," Julia said. Her voice was soft again, and filled with loss and sadness, so much so that Scott felt a stab of guilt through his heart. "I thought you'd been acting strangely, and now I know why. You don't remember me, either."

She started crying. The sounds were muffled as if her hands were covering her face. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't do this to you. I just don't know what to do. I feel so lost. You were the one who made sense of everything. I just thought, when you woke up, that everything was going to be like it was."

There was a short pause. "When were you going to tell me?" Julia asked. The tone of her voice had changed. There was suddenly anger underneath her tears. "How long were you just going to pretend to know who I am, Scott? Forever?"

Scott winced as Julia's voice reached a sharp, angry pitch. He had no answer for her. _This isn't real,_ he told himself. _She's just an actress, hired to confuse me._

"Look at me!" Julia yelled. She grabbed Scott's shoulders and started shaking him. "Why won't you look at me," she said, her voice a whisper. He felt her tears falling on his face. She stopped shaking him suddenly. "I- I'm sorry," she said, but her crying only strengthened. Her footsteps rushed to the door. The door opened. Scott couldn't tell if she'd left or not. His head was still ringing from the shaking he'd taken. He waited, his head lifted slightly off of his pillow. "I'll be back tomorrow," she said, and the door shut behind her.

Scott lowered his head back into the pillow. "No," he said. "I'm sorry."


	3. Sight

Despite his overwhelming weariness, Scott found sleep elusive that night. His muscles ached, and his head pounded with every whispery heartbeat. Much more maddening, however, were the troubling thoughts that he couldn't quiet. He found himself unable to believe anything his mind told him. He didn't know how he should feel. He didn't know what his next step should be. This wasn't Scott Summers. Scott Summers was in control.

_That's it._

Since awakening, Scott had found himself completely at the whim of others. _They've been in control,_ he thought. _They've been able to control what I eat, who sees me, what they say, and even what my senses tell me. And I've let them do it. I've laid here in this bed and played into their game from the get-go._

The thoughts quieted the maelstrom of confusion. Finally, Scott was able to see the beginnings of a plan. _I've played defense long enough. It's time I gave the offense a try. And the first step,_ he realized, _is to stop playing by their rules. Try the unexpected._

The biggest crutch limiting Scott was the lack of his eyesight. By removing his visor, the hospital employees had effectively blinded him, so he had only the most limited amount of sensory information to verify his location, and nothing concrete. But then, there was the incident, the phenomenon when his eyes had been forced open. The light had been blinding, his eyes blurred with tears. Nothing he'd seen could be trusted.

_But what does it mean that my powers didn't work?_ he asked himself. _How did that happen? Am I in the Morlock tunnels? Did Leech survive?_ He sniffed the air. It certainly didn't smell like he was in the sewer, and that was a smell that couldn't be hidden so easily. _Not the Morlocks._

It could all be an illusion. He'd fought Jason Wyngarde, Mastermind, in the world of illusions. He'd lived with two of the world's most powerful telepaths for years. He knew there wasn't anything a skilled telepath couldn't make a non-telepath believe. But he'd tried, for hours, to raise mental shields like Jean and Professor Xavier had taught him, and he hadn't noticed any kind of change. If it was an illusion, it was too strong for him to counteract with shields. He would have to find his way 'out' some other way.

_So there it is,_ he thought. _Opening my eyes would answer a lot of questions. There's a chance my powers still won't work, and if they do work, then I'll know that all of this is a trick. Getting out might be a problem, but my powers would definitely make it a lot easier._

He turned his head in the direction he had, earlier that day, guessed that there was a window. There was, he knew, a possibility that he was, in reality, laying on a hospital bed in a heavily populated hospital next to either businesses or houses all filled with innocent people. Was it worth the risk?

Scott's thoughts fell quiet. A sort of panic clutched his heart. He wasn't just considering a course of action. He was facing a deeply ingrained phobia.

He raised his thin hand and rubbed the loose skin on his brow, and then ran his fingers through his hair. He was lying on his shoulder, wondering what to do, when an idea struck him. It was so simple! He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. The only thing, besides ruby quartz and his brother Alex, that wasn't effected by his optic blast was his own flesh!

Without hesitation, and still facing the window, just in case, Scott dropped his hand close to his face. He tried to open his eyes, and his fingers started to shake. _What's the holdup?_ he asked himself. _C'mon, you can do this. Just open them a little bit._ The shaking of his hand intensified. Genuine fear spread like a chill through his spine, and Scott realized that he honestly didn't know which he'd rather happen, whether his optic power be active, or not.

Scott clenched his fists, and rolled onto his back. He slammed his fists down on the mattress on each of his sides in frustration. Straining his stomach muscles with all of his might, and pulling himself along the rail on the bed, he managed to sit upright. Huffing and puffing through clenched teeth, he once again turned to face the "window." Exhausted, he used both arms to raise his hand to his face. Tears and saliva mixed on his chin and dripped freely onto his heaving chest.

The exertion and adrenaline seemed to be buzzing in his head so loudly that he couldn't hear a thing around him. His arms started shaking violently as the last of his strength started to leave him. With a heavy breath, he said aloud, "Enough!"

He opened his eyes.

It was only a sliver at first, peeking through his eyelashes, but he knew immediately nothing was going to happen. There was no strange, red glow. There was no other-worldly smell or sound. He saw simply the deep navy of nighttime in the city, where light pollution kept true darkness at bay.

He opened his eyes, and slowly he saw the lines on his hand, only it didn't look like his hand. It was the hand of an old man--boney and frail.

"Oh, god," Scott said. His hands dropped, and his eyes again struggled to perceive the world around him. An ordinary hospital bedroom came into focus, slightly illuminated by the moonlight above and streetlights below. He looked the other way, only to see that the room was complete… No sound stage, no fake props. The door was closed, and light shone from beneath. He held up his arms again, and his eyes traced IV tubes to their respective containers.

With every ounce of energy expended from his body, he fell roughly backwards onto his pillow. He slammed his hands into his wet eyes and rubbed and rubbed them with his palms. "What does this mean?" he asked with a shaky voice.

_No,_ he thought. He opened his eyes, allowing his now excruciatingly throbbing arms to drop to his sides. _This changes nothing. I knew this was a possibility. This just means I have to play by their rules a little longer… Until I can get to the mansion. The Professor will know what to do. He'll know how to get my powers back._

Scott had often wondered what it would be like to wake up one morning without his gift. He wondered what it would mean for his life. How he would react. As he stared at the empty ceiling, marveling at the clarity with which he could see its contours and intricacies, only one thought echoed through his mind.

_This changes nothing._


	4. Hello, Julia

Scott had tried for hours to calm himself, using a mental trick that Professor Xavier had taught him, but sleep didn't come that night. It had always worked before, but Scott supposed that his mind was too active to be quieted. He took advantage of the extra time, though, to plan his course of action. In keeping with his newfound determination, he was determined to never again be left on the defensive. The game would be his from here on out.

Hence, when the nurses came in during the night, Scott pretended to be sleeping. When the sun started to peek through the window, he stirred appropriately. And when, at last, he heard the footsteps of the nurse shuffling towards him, he turned his head to face her, opened his eyes, and smiled.

The nurse was an extremely thin woman, probably in her late forties, early fifties, though her skin looked like leather and the bags under her eyes were enormous. She looked as bad as Scott felt. Still, her expression had been warm, when he opened his eyes. That changed, though, when she noticed her patient was staring at her.

"Goodness!" she exclaimed, clutching her chest with one hand and trying her best to steady a tray of food in the other.

Scott raised his hand slightly, "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

The nurse started laughing nervously and sat the tray down on a small table that she then placed over Scott's lap. "Don't be sorry," she said, still giggling. "I just wasn't expecting you to… be awake."

She distributed the flatware next to the plate on the tray. "I should be apologizing. I woke you up."

"I wasn't asleep," Scott said.

"Are you an early riser?"

"Six o'clock every morning," Scott admitted, "but I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Oh, I see," the nurse said, smiling. "Well, you must be feeling a little better. You're definitely more talkative today than you were yesterday."

Scott didn't reply. He just gave the nurse a slight smile and a nod and then looked down at the tray in front of him. It was a brown tray, with a white plate in the center covered with light-yellow scrambled eggs, sprinkled with black pepper, two sausage links, and a steamy, buttery biscuit. On one side of the plate was a glass of orange juice, and the other had his napkin, silverware, and a white mug of coffee.

Besides being extremely hungry, the sight was nothing short of miraculous. _So many colors,_ Scott thought. He shook his head and then raised his hand to rub his eyes with his fingers to hide his emotion. _Not many people get teary-eyed looking at breakfast,_ Scott told himself. _Especially not hospital food. Pull it together._

Taking a deep breath, he let out a long sigh, reminding himself of his plan, and turned to the nurse with a smile on his face. "Thank you," he said politely.

The nurse was watching him with keen interest and a somewhat smug expression. Her hands were crossed in front of her. "You're welcome, sweetheart," she said. The show over, she turned to leave. "Don't worry. You'll be out of here in no time," she said over her shoulder. "I'll be back to check on you in a little while." The door opened and closed, and Scott was alone again.

He examined the "feast" before him with greedy eyes, struggling to decide where to begin. He finally decided to try the sausage. His arms, still tired from his late night struggles, complained as he lifted them to start eating. Skipping the fork, he grabbed a link and took a large bite. It wasn't the best sausage he'd ever had, but he wasn't feeling particularly picky. He quickly swallowed the barely chewed bits and bit off another chunk. With the other hand, he tore off a piece of biscuit and shoved it in his mouth, too.

At just that moment, the door to his room opened abruptly. Scott turned his head, his cheeks still full and crumbs dropping from his lips, and watched as a figure pushed the door open with their rear-end, backing through the doorway. A very familiar voice called down the hallway, with laughter in her voice, "Okay, I appreciate it. Thank you, Marie."

She turned around, but her attention was focused in her large, tan-colored purse. Her right arm was practically buried up to her elbow as she noisily searched for something. Scott couldn't help but smile, watching her. She was wearing a navy sweatshirt that was at least three sized too big for her. Her brown hair was tied back in a loose pony-tail, and she swiped a long strand of hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear, and pushed up the sleeves of the sweatshirt to her elbows as she muttered to herself. She wasn't wearing much makeup, probably just foundation, Scott guessed, and maybe some eye shadow. Her skin was very light and smooth, and her lips were full and a healthy pink. Her cheeks looked slightly flushed. Her face was long and lean. All in all, she had very nice features, Scott thought, but she couldn't have looked more like a mother if she'd tried. _Or maybe that's the idea,_ he thought.

"You would not believe the traffic this morning," she said, still moving items back and forth in her bag. She walked towards Scott, and finally raised her eyes to look at him, only to find him staring back at her. Her mouth dropped open. "Oh, sh--," she said. Her hands couldn't decide if they wanted to go to her chest or her mouth, so they sort of bobbed between the two. She jumped as her purse hit the floor. Scott looked down and watched a tube of lipstick roll across the tiles until it disappeared.

He looked back up at her, an eyebrow raised. That certainly wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting.

"Hello, Julia," he said, his voice low and warm.

Like a collapsible cup, she seemed to fold in on herself. Her legs crumpled under her, and she sat on the floor. She brought her hand to her face, covering her nose and mouth, and tears started to flow from her dark eyes as she wept silently. She took a long, rattling, breath. She dropped her hand, and a wet smile spread across her face, though her eyes were still clenched with emotion. She let out a half-laugh. "Hello, Scott," she said.


	5. Comparisons

"I'm sorry." Julia said. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." She bent over the purse she'd dropped onto the floor and started packing its spilled contents back inside it. "I guess I just wasn't ready… I wasn't ready for you to look at me." She started crawling across the floor on her hands and knees, following the lipstick that had rolled under Scott's hospital bed, until her head disappeared underneath it, too.

Scott shook his head slightly. Julia had been coming to visit him for days, but their conversations had always been stilted and formal. Suddenly, Scott was seeing a very different side of the woman who claimed to be his wife, and it was bizarre.

Her voice continued, muffled by the bed. "I mean, it's been so long and then you woke up, but you wouldn't open your eyes and I thought there was something wrong with you or me and I just didn't know what to think."

She crawled out from under the bed, and sat back onto the floor with a huff of breath. She again lifted the strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She looked up at Scott with her shining brown eyes and she smiled an infectious smile. She held up the tube of lipstick, and laughed. Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment, and she dropped the tube into her purse. Looking down, she shook her head. Her hand went to the bridge of her nose, and her shoulders started shaking as she broke into a silent sobbing.

Scott didn't know what to do or say. He didn't recall ever seeing this woman before in his life, and here she was crying her eyes out before him, overjoyed that he'd opened his eyes to look at her. As strange as the situation was, as before, Scott couldn't help but empathize with the woman. Her emotions were so raw and her honesty so intense that Scott was overwhelmed by them. Her actions reminded him of Jean, but Jean had always been more refined. _Or was she… less real?_ Scott asked himself.

Quickly banishing the thought, Scott focused on the matter at hand. He had a job to do. He had to pretend to be this woman's husband, and he was going to be convincing. He reached his hand over to Julia's, which was resting on the bed, and laid it gently on top of hers. Julia's fingers wrapped around his tightly, and she raised her now blood-shot eyes to look at his. "I'm sorry," she said, sharply shaking her head, trying to force her tears to stop. "You don't need this. It's just been really tough without you, and today's been a bad day." She threw up her free hand and it landed with a thump on her leg, curled under her. She took a deep breath and let it loose slowly.

Scott found himself remembering all of the times he'd been there when the woman of his life was suffering. He knew it was in a woman's makeup to feel intensely—more intensely than he ever would. How often Jean had asked him to try and understand how she was feeling. Scott had sincerely tried, but he didn't often deal in emotions or feelings. During those times, though, he'd always been Jean's support. He wanted to be her rock. The stability she could find when everything else was sweeping away like sand.

Fighting down the pain from his memories, Scott's rubbed his mouth and chin roughly with his left hand. He, too, took a deep breath, trying to stop the tide of mourning he suddenly felt. Wiping a tear from his eye, Scott finally got into character. Swallowing hard, he lifted his hand from Julia's and placed it on her cheek. With his thumb, we wiped away the tear stains. Julia closed her eyes and touched his hand.

"I missed you," Julia whispered.

Seeing an entirely different face than Julia's through his teary eyes, Scott whispered back. "I missed you, too."

_--Author's note._

_I know this is a short entry, even for me. But I felt like I would lose some emotional impact if I kept the chapter going longer. My apologies, and I will continue to strive to keep the story moving._


	6. Revelations

Overhead, a series of metal pipes twisted and formed a kind of cage around Scott's bed. He looked up at the construct with a mix of anger, determination, and sheer exhaustion. The sting of sweat burned his eyes and his tongue, and his chest heaved up and down as he struggled for his next breath. Still, the voice inside told him that now wasn't the time to quit. This was the time to fight like he'd never fought before. With a snarl, he lifted his quaking arms to the bar suspended above his chest. Tightening the muscles in his back and legs, he took a deep breath and slowly released it as he began pulling himself up to the bar.

He'd lost count much earlier in the day. It wasn't anything but stubbornness that kept him exercising mercilessly. He'd asked for the equipment to be installed on his bed. The doctors had agreed, seemingly happy at first that he'd taken such an interest in his therapy. The threats to remove them had come almost constantly since. The doctors claimed he was going to hurt himself. Scott had insisted the equipment stay. He didn't mention it, but he knew what he was doing. This wasn't the first time he'd built himself up from a bony nothing.

The longer he was in this "hospital," the longer his friends and teammates worried about him. Or maybe they'd been captured, too. What if they were suffering? It seemed his captors were in no hurry to move him. Scott was determined to take advantage of the time he had to become as strong as possible. Whatever lay ahead, he would be ready for it.

His whole body shook violently as he lowered himself. He held himself just a couple of inches from the mattress and then, just as he started pulling himself up again, the door to his room came open. Scott didn't even turn his head to see who it was. He knew what time it was.

"You're going to hurt yourself," a young woman's voice said. "If you don't take it easy, I'm going to have to tell the doctor."

"He knows," Scott said. He grunted as he slowly lowered himself back to the mattress. He tried his best to hidehis relief when he relaxed into the mattress of his bed. He cleared his throat, hiding a cough, and struggled to control his lungs, which were burning for air. "Good afternoon, Michelle. Did anyone ever tell you you're very punctual?"

He turned his head and the familiar face of his physical therapy nurse stared back with feigned disapproval and a definite hint of amusement on her well-tanned face. There was no denying that she was cute, but just looking at her made Scott Summers feel so old he could puke. He always thought she might as well wear her blond hair in pig tails, instead of the long pony-tail she seemed to prefer.

"Once or twice," she replied, her good-natured smile finally breaking through. It was safe to say that Scott didn't dread her visits nearly as much as he pretended to, and he imagined that neither did any of the other men in the hospital.

"What can I say?" Michelle continued. "I just can't wait for our visits."

"I wish I could say the same," Scott said.

"You know, this would all be much easier if you didn't insist on punishing yourself."

"The sooner I'm out of here, the better," he replied, quite truthfully.

"I can understand that," Michelle said as she began massaging his calves and twisting and turning his feet and ankles in painful directions.

Scott's face darkened with embarrassment. He hated being so helpless. He hated this hospital. And more than anything at the moment, he hated hospital gowns. Footsteps at the open doorway turned into his room, and Scott turned his head to see Julia walking towards him.

She smiled and said, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Drat," Michelle said, "she caught us."

Scott fought the urge to roll his eyes at the now tired joke, and instead did his best to greet his "wife" with a smile. It wasn't too difficult. Her visits, too, were becoming highlights of his day. Of course, there wasn't much competition. The days were incredibly boring and, sometimes, torturous. The key, Scott knew, was to keep his attention focused. He was getting stronger every day. _It won't be long... _he thought.

"Honey, you look awful," Julia said. "I'll never understand why you do this to yourself. You need to take it easy, or you're never going to get well."

"I'm just trying to get my physique back," Scott said. "I'm tired of looking like a skeleton.

Julia laughed. "Well, you didn't have much of a physique to lose, hotshot."

Scott shot her a confused look, but didn't say anything further.

"How are you, Michelle?" she asked.

"Just great, Mrs. Summers. How are you? and little Rachel?"

Scott dropped his head back onto the pillow and did his best to remove himself from the humiliating experience. As Michelle moved through the various exercises she deemed necessary, Scott listened to the two women chatter about the daughter he didn't know and her funny way of saying "physical therapy." They laughed and carried on, and Scott suffered through the pain.

When it was all over, Michelle stood up and sighed, slightly out of breath. "Well, Mr. Summers, you survived another visit."

Scott lowered his legs and winced as his joints and muscles complained. "Thank you, Michelle," he said, trying to sound grateful. She approached the side of his bed and patted him on the shoulder.

"You're a real trooper, Mr. Summers. I admire your tenacity. I don't think I've ever met a man more determined…" she looked at Julia and smiled. "…Or more stubborn."

They laughed and Michelle gave Scott's shoulder one last pat. "Take it easy," she said. "See you later, Mrs. Summers."

Julia turned and watched Michelle exit. "It was good seeing you again, sweetie. Take care." As Michelle was just about to leave, Julia called out, "Thank you!" She turned back to Scott and said, now frowning, "Well, you weren't very friendly."

"Sorry," Scott said. "I guess I just had my mind on other things."

There was a pause. Scott looked over at Julia and he could tell she was debating something. "I'm not supposed to tell you this," she said, "but I think it might cheer you up."

His interest piqued, Scott scooted up a little in the bed. "Yes?" he said, hoping he didn't sound too eager.

"The doctor said that, if your vitals stay strong and you're walking on your own soon," she paused. "You might be able to go home as soon as next week."

An unbelievable feeling of relief flooded over Scott. He sank back into the bed, and shook his head. If this was true, then perhaps his hard work had paid off after all, but he would need to work even harder than he had been, to be ready in time. Obviously, these people, whoever they were, weren't just going to just let him go. Though he couldn't remember how, he was sure they went through a lot of trouble to capture him and find a way to neutralize his power.

Now, as his health improved, they were forced to come up with a new story or move him somewhere else, to remove suspicion at the hospital?

As the idea struck him, he turned his head sharply to face Julia. He suddenly realized that he no longer suspected the hospital staff. He'd been around long enough to see that, either this was the most elaborate hoax he'd ever seen or heard of, or this was a real hospital. That meant that the hospital staff had to be real. At least most of them. The only person who claimed to know Scott before his coma was the person he would be released to, the person who now stared at him with confused eyes.

"Aren't you excited?" Julia asked.

Scott smiled his most charming smile, though his emotions were churning inside him like a waterfall. "I can't wait," he said. Julia smiled and leaned over to give Scott a massive hug. Scott was glad. With her face buried on his shoulder, she couldn't see the all-too-serious expression on his face.


	7. Guilt

**Author's note: This chapter is a little intense. At least in my opinion. You've been warned.**

Scott's eyes came open as he became aware of a tickling sensation on his nose. Sniffing, he brought his right hand to his face to find that it was hair on his lips and neck and chest. Rising up slightly, he saw that the soft, flowing waves were bright red in color.

"Jean?" he said, his voice weak and unsure.

As if a drape was moved backwards, uncovering his surroundings, he saw that he was in his room, their room, the suite they had shared in Professor Xavier's mansion. Jean was lying next to him, her head on his chest and her arm draped over him.

Scott's breath caught in his throat. He tried his best to freeze, afraid that he would shatter the moment, but he seemed to shake all the more. With a soft groan, Jean started to move, rubbing her face into Scott's chest. Her arm squeezed him tight, and then she looked up at him. Her emerald eyes shimmered in the darkness and her fair skin seemed to emanate a peaceful glow. She saw him looking back at her, and her face spread into a bright smile. Scott had never seen a more beautiful smile than Jean's. Whenever he saw it, it always quieted his worries, chased away the cold, and made him warm inside.

_What is this?_ Scott asked himself. _It must be a dream, but everything is so real. So clear._

Jean pulled herself up the bed and rested her head on the pillow next to Scott's. "What's the matter?" she said. "Couldn't sleep?"

_I must be going crazy,_ Scott thought. Still, it was so real, and he hadn't seen Jean in so long. Especially like this: loving, sweet, and happy. This was the Jean before Apocalypse corrupted his mind and before his wife became more Phoenix than Jean Grey-Summers. This was Jean during the happy times, when there wasn't anything in the world that could separate them. They'd traveled through time, survived a lifetime together in the future, raised Scott's son, been thrown into the past where they witnessed the birth of Mr. Sinister. During that time, Scott had begun to think that even death would never again break them apart.

"What are you thinking about, Mr. Summers?" she whispered. "Don't make me find out for myself." Her leg shifted between the sheets and she laid it on top of Scott's legs. She lifted her head as she always used to when she wanted Scott to hold her close. He hesitated momentarily, still wary of the reality of this miracle. Then he decided that holding Jean was an opportunity he couldn't afford to pass up, dream or reality.

Obediently, he raised his arm and tucked it under her head, wrapped it around her shoulder, and pulled her close.

"I was just thinking about you," he said with a slight smile. "And all the things we've been through together." He looked at her, and could feel, FEEL, the love between them, as if their psychic rapport had never been lost. "And what the future might hold," he said.

A mischievous glint came into Jean's eyes. "Why, Scott, I never knew you were clairvoyant," she said playfully. "And what does the future hold?"

Scott's eyes seemed to fog over, and he started to speak. "Pain. Heartache. Suffering." he said. He tried to stop himself, but the words came of their own volition.

"We'll be separated. I try to save Nathan and become one with evil. I come back, but things aren't the same. You change, too, and before long we can't talk to each other. An old enemy reappears, and tears the X-Men apart from the inside." He turned to look at Jean, who is horrified at what she hears. Tears stream down her face as she tries to push away from Scott.

Though he wants to let go, Scott found that he could not. He held her tightly to him. "You will **die,**" he said. The last word echoed and grew louder and louder. The sound merged with a shrieking, and Scott soon realized it was Jean, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Scott let her go, finally in control of himself, and he covered his ears, trying to shelter them from the deafening sound. Jean started clawing at her face with her fingernails, until the flesh rolled off in layers and blood flowed freely.

"Jean, NO!" Scott cried, but he couldn't even hear his own voice over the shrieking. Finally, Jean clutched her head with both hands, and the scream reached an unbearable pitch. Flames and telekinetic force blew the room around them into shreds. Scott was thrown onto the floor, and the bed disappeared.

Rolling over, Scott peered into the sky above him, horrified to see a skeleton floating in the familiar fiery bird of the Phoenix force.

"And what did you do when I died?" Jean's voice bellowed at him. "Who had you chosen over me?"

"Jean, I'm sorry!" Scott yelled. "Nothing was the same! We didn't talk anymore!"

"Did you try?" Jean's voice became darker, laced with a sinister intent. It was the voice of Dark Phoenix.

"Look, I know I was wrong to go to Emma…"

"Don't say that name to me!"

"After you died, I couldn't think about it. I had to move on or I would have been lost forever. I felt terrible for what I'd done, but dwelling on it would have killed me. I couldn't do that to your memory, not after what you'd done to save us so many times. The X-Men depended on me!"

The skeleton within the flames curled into fetal position, shrieking as it had before. Scott covered his face, trying to shield himself from the increasing intensity of the flames. Among the cacophony, just barely audible, he thought he heard Emma's voice.

Carefully, he turned and there, past the Phoenix, far into the swirling colors and space, the image of Emma Frost, bathed in white light, floated towards Scott. The image got closer and closer, but the flames from the Phoenix grew hotter and hotter. Emma was repeating something, and it got louder and louder. Finally, he could make out what she was saying.

"Where are you, Scott?"

"I'm here!" he cried.

"Where are you?" she repeated. The question came over and over. Scott watched as his skin started to blister.

"Jean, stop it!" he cried. "I'm sorry!"

Finally, Emma was right on top of him. "WHERE ARE YOU, SCOTT?" her voice boomed.

With a start, Scott sat up in bed, bathed in sweat, and smacked his head into the exercise bar that had been installed on his hospital bed. Grabbing his forehead, Scott swore soundly and realized the monitors around him were beeping in alarm. His heart rate was astronomical. Nurses rushed into the room, and Scott tried to shoo them away.

"It was a nightmare," he said. As his breathing quieted and he forced himself to relax, his pulse and blood pressure returned to normal. In time, the nurses were satisfied, though they made sure that Scott knew the doctor would be informed of the incident.

Scott was happy to be rid of them. His head was still swimming from the intensity of the dream. He rubbed the knot that was forming on his damp forehead and tried to figure out what to make of the imagery he'd seen. The vision of Jean wasn't unlike nightmares he'd had before. Dealing with her death and the guilt of his actions was a regular trial for him, especially during the night, but the added image of Emma was new, and her message was definitely intriguing. She seemed to be searching for him…

Scott couldn't help but wonder if her appearance wasn't his mind's way of telling him she was looking for him telepathically, calling out to him through Cerebra or perhaps through her own power. _Yes,_ he thought, _that makes sense. Cerebra must be down. They must be searching for me systematically. With Emma's reduced range, I probably just caught the fringes of her calls, and they were interpreted as images in my dream._

With renewed confidence, Scott stared at the ceiling. Now more than ever he was sure his teammates were looking for him, and tomorrow was the big day. Tomorrow, he would be released. _Tomorrow, _he thought, _I go home._


	8. Today

Near-scalding water pounded stiff muscles as Scott rotated his shoulders and did his best to stretch in the small confines of his hospital room's shower. Turning, he rested one hand next to the shower head and leaned heavily on it. His other hand rubbed his face and jaw as water poured into his swollen eyes. He'd spent the remainder of the night after waking from his nightmare mentally "calling" for Emma, but he'd had no response.

It didn't make sense. If she could reach him in his sleep, she should have been able to contact him or locate him while he was awake, especially with him "yelling" as hard as he could with his mind. Xavier and Jean would have been howling for relief if he'd called them as hard as he'd been doing last night. After concentrating so hard for so many hours, Scott was absolutely exhausted.

Today wasn't the day to be lethargic, though. Today was going to take all of the mental faculties Scott could muster. Today, all of his preparations would pay off.

With a metallic clank, Scott shut off the water flow. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing back bangs too long neglected, and reached for his towel. A long sigh escaped his lips as he shoved the soft fabric into his eyes. After drying, he wrapped the towel around his waist and wiped the condensation from the small mirror. The image staring back at him was as foreign as it was the first time since he'd awoken in this hospital. Brown eyes were framed by the beginnings of crow's feet and wrinkles caused by too many days spent in the sun. His cheeks were still slightly sunken, though he'd gained a considerable amount of mass since first awakening. Still, there was no denying that it was his face. Of that much, he was certain.

He shaved carefully and mused for not-the-first time how much easier it was to shave without wearing sunglasses. Several scars marked mistakes made by others while they were shaving him. They made him wonder how long he actually had been asleep.

Finally, he was ready to get dressed. He opened the drawer under the sink that was supposed to have held the clothes Julia had brought for him. He slid on a pair of plaid boxers and threw on a navy blue t-shirt. Grabbing the last article of clothes, Scott shook his head. Grey sweatpants. _I'm definitely going to have to find new clothes,_ he thought as he pulled them on.

Giving his hair a final thrashing with his towel, he stepped out into his room. As the steam poured into the chilly room, the door opened from the corridor. Julia stepped in with an absolutely monumental smile on her face.

Scott couldn't help but smile in turn. His eyes traced his "wife" up and down. She wore khaki colored dress pants and a tight-fitting red sweater over a white button-up shirt. The large collar of the shirt framed her face, obviously made up with great care, and hair curled and voluminous.

"Wow," Scott said genuinely. "You look amazing."

Julia's smile got brighter. "Thanks," she said. "I couldn't tell you the last time I've worn anything more than foundation and lipstick. I feel like a hooker."

They both laughed. Internally, Scott reminded himself what the day held and the light emotions inside him disappeared, replaced with cold determination. "I hope you brought socks and shoes," Scott said. "I didn't see any in the drawer."

Taking the canvas bag from her shoulder, Julia walked over to Scott. She held it open. The smile didn't leave her face and, as Scott started removing the coat, socks, and shoes she'd brought for him, he felt her fingers running through his damp hair. They traced down the side of his face and rested on his chin, which she gave a slight squeeze.

Scott looked into her eyes. They were teary and filled with emotion. Scott forced his heart into lead, as he'd done so many times before. With a small tug, she lowered his face to hers. Her lips met his, and Scott watched her as she kissed him.

Her hand dropped to his chest, and she patted it softly. "You look amazing," she said. "Not me." She raised her eyes to his again, and a tear fell down her cheek. "I can't believe you're coming home with me, that you're standing on your own. That we're going to be together again." She shook her head and laughed. "I just can't believe it's real!" she exclaimed.

Scott, trying to hide the stiffness in his jaw, smiled. "Me neither," he said.

He finished dressing and the two of them gathered the pictures, cards, and the few belongings they had between them in the hospital room. "Did you bring my wallet like I asked?" Scott said.

"It should be in your jacket pocket," she said.

Scott slid his hand into the pocket and felt the leather. He pulled it out and flipped it open. He ignored the picture of Julia and Rachel and nodded when he saw a couple credit cards and a little cash. With a quick glance behind the picture, he saw his driver's license. He pulled it out, and couldn't help but laugh out loud. In the picture, he was easily fifty pounds heavier than he'd ever been in his entire life.

"It's a big difference, isn't it?" Julia said, turning her head to see the picture. She laughed, too, and Scott couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed, even if the image was a fake. "Well, we've all dropped a few pounds," she said, slapping her own rear-end. "I guess I'd better get started on the paperwork to get you out of here. I'll be right back."

Julia turned and exited to the hallway, and Scott quickly shoved the cash, credit cards, and license into his jacket pocket, and took the wallet into the bathroom and sat it on the edge of the sink. He collected his toothbrush, razor, and other toiletries and closed the door to the bathroom behind him. Dropping the last of his things into the bag, Scott sat down on the bed to collect his thoughts and conserve his strength. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

_It's not real,_ he told himself. _She's the enemy. It has to be done._

In the bag next to him, a picture of Julia and himself, hugging, sitting on beach towels with the ocean behind them. They were both definitely heavier, and there was real happiness in both of their faces.

_It's not real, _he repeated over and over, waiting for Julia to return, but his eyes never left the picture.

Finally, she came back into the room trailed by nurses and doctors. One of the women was carrying a large bouquet of flowers. She approached Scott, shook his hand, and handed him the flowers. "It's been quite a while, Mr. Summers," she said. When she spoke, Scott remembered the voice immediately.

"Dr. Langley," he said.

It was the first time Scott had seen the woman. Sadly, she wasn't quite as attractive as her voice led him to believe. Her hair was decidedly out of fashion, and it was saying something that Scott would even notice. Dr. Langley was obviously shocked Scott had remembered. "I'm impressed!" she said. "Well, I just wanted to congratulate you for your recovery." Her eyes narrowed. "The hospital felt that a psych evaluation wasn't even necessary, you've had such a turnaround. It's very impressive, indeed."

Scott got the feeling Dr. Langley wasn't completely convinced. Scott smirked. _I guess she's as astute as I'd guessed._

She handed him a card. "I want you to keep me in mind, in case you have any troubles dealing with… the way things are."

Now Scott's eyes narrowed. _What did she mean by that?_ he asked himself.

She continued, "I help out here at the hospital, but I have an office of my own." She pointed to the card. "My number is there. Call me anytime."

Scott continued to look at the woman carefully, in the eyes, trying to decide if she knew something or if she was trying to tell him something. _Is it her?_

"We'll keep you in mind," Julia interrupted.

Snapped from his musings, Scott stuffed the card into the front pocket on his jacket. He smiled politely. "Thank you, Dr. Langley, and thank you all for taking such good care of me. I certainly won't forget your hand in my 'recovery.'"

At long last, the doctors gave them the "okay" to leave. They loaded Scott onto a wheelchair and Julia checked the bags one last time.

"Did you get everything out of the bathroom?" she asked.

"Yeah, I did," Scott said, trying hard to keep his voice even. Julia paused near the door, obviously struggling whether or not to check the room anyway. Scott swallowed. "I cleaned it out while you were signing the papers," he explained.

"Oh, okay," she said.

Taking a silent breath, Scott tried his best not to smile excitedly as he was being wheeled to the elevator, though the thought occurred to him that anybody in his position would have been excited. As the elevator door opened on the ground floor, Scott's heart started pumping feverishly. The moment of truth was coming.

"You didn't bring Rachel, did you?" Scott asked Julia, turning his head slightly to look at her as she pushed him towards the glass doors.

"No, you said you wanted to be alone, didn't you?"

"That's right, I did."

The electric doors slid open and Julia turned Scott towards a silver, older model Toyota Camry. Inside, Scott's heart skipped a beat. He knew he didn't want to go where Julia was going to take him if he got in that car with her. _NOW!_ he told himself.

"Oh my word!" Scott said, suddenly feeling his jacket pockets.

"What?" Julia said, obviously shocked by the outburst. "What's wrong?"

"I think I left my wallet in the room," he said.

"I looked all over before we left," Julia said. "I didn't see it lying anywhere."

"Well I don't have it. I must have left it."

Scott heard the shuffling of Julia's feet. "Goodness," she mumbled. She was decidedly perturbed, but she didn't want to show it. "Alright," she said. "Okay, I'll run up to the room and get it. I hope I get there before somebody else sees it. You just wait here."

"Can I have the keys?" Scott said. "So I can get in the car and get it warmed up?"

It was a big risk. It seemed unlikely that Julia would give him the keys, but if she wanted to keep up her façade until the last moment, then this would be the final test.

"Sure," she said. She reached into her purse and dropped the keys over Scott's shoulder into his lap. "Just don't leave without me," she said, laughing.

The electronic doors opened and closed. Scott stood and looked through the glass and saw Julia walking quickly towards the elevator. With a swift kick, he sent the wheelchair rolling backwards, into the shrubbery near the door, and he rushed to the driver's side of the car. He looked around, hoping nobody was paying attention, turned the key, and sat down behind the steering wheel.

The silence inside was almost deafening, and Scott's heart pounded in his ears and chest. He shot one last glance at the glass doors, turned the key in the ignition, and sped out of the driveway of the hospital.


	9. Shades of Red

The sky was clear and the sun was bright. Though the air was filled with a late autumnal chill, inside the car it was warm. As Scott pulled out onto the road, his head was filled with so much excitement and adrenaline, he felt like he would swoon any minute. He turned the knob on the dash to lessen the heat pouring on his face, and he forced himself to pull his racing thoughts and emotions together.

He was in the middle of an unknown city in a car he'd just stolen from the woman who claimed to be his wife but who might have been responsible for his kidnapping. It was as chaotic a situation as he'd ever been in, but not more so. In fact, he worked best under pressure.

As the few cars in front of him slowed to a stop at a light, Scott allowed himself a moment of celebration. His plan had worked perfectly. He had a good ten minutes until Julia would notice the car missing. Next would come the panic or anger. At any rate, he was fairly confident he would be well out of the city limits before any kind of search was started. The thought had occurred to him that the car he was driving might have had a tracker, but he was going to have to take that chance. He couldn't risk actually stealing a car. Not yet, anyway.

The light turned green, and Scott turned, following signs leading to the interstate. The movements of his feet and arms as his they switched from the brake, accelerator, and clutch, and as he steered and shifted gears were foreign after such a long time in the hospital. He couldn't help but smile, though, as the familiar motions flowed from him with practiced ease. It felt amazing to be anywhere besides staring at the four walls of his hospital room.

Once again, he pulled his emotions into check. Glancing into the rear view mirror for anything suspicious, Scott accelerated towards the onramp of the interstate, choosing the road heading east. As he merged into the racing traffic, he continued searching for clues as to his whereabouts. His eyes went from license plate to license plate. It quickly became apparent that the vast majority of cars wore Ohio plates. _Ohio,_ he thought. _Not far at all. _The question remained where he was in Ohio, but that wasn't important at the moment. Changing out of the slow lane, Scott increased his speed to match the faster traffic. He was careful not to let his excitement overtake him, though. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over by the police.

For several minutes, he continued along the road. Finally, he was out of the city limits, and he began searching for the next objective in his plan. It didn't take too long before he spotted what he was looking for--an exit sign. And, gauging from the amount of restaurants and gas stations advertised, it was for a medium sized town. Weaving through two cars, Scott raced down the exit ramp. Squinting through the glare in the windshield, he struggled to search his surroundings. The town looked like almost every other one he'd visited in the U.S., and he knew there was bound to be a general store-type shop around close by. Finally, he spotted something that looked promising. His tires squealed as he slid into a parking space, and he hurried inside through the glass automatic doors.

He stood at the entrance for an instant, but the eyes of the workers turned to stare, so he started moving. With quick steps, he walked down each aisle, gathering up items he knew he'd need. A thick, black magic marker, a pad of paper, a roll of tape, a screwdriver, a cheap pair of blue jeans. He'd gone over the list in his mind a hundred times before. As an after thought, he grabbed a box of granola bars and a ball cap. With his arms full, he approached the check-out line. Feeling suddenly impatient, his knee shook slightly as he stared at the back of the balding man in front of him who apparently couldn't have lived another minute without Hercules Against the Moon Men on DVD and three boxes of Ensure.

He glanced around, but nobody was really paying any kind of attention to him. His eyes stopped on a small circular rack sitting on the counter next to the line. Sunglasses. In particular, his eyes fixed on a pair of silver frames with rather large, bright red lenses. The line moved, and Scott stepped forward slowly, but his eyes didn't move.

_You don't need them,_ Scott told himself. _They're just sunglasses. They won't stop your mutant power._

_But the sun is bright,_ he reasoned. _I need some kind of protection. I'll be on the road for hours. It might as well be a style I'm used to._

Suddenly, Scott's fixation was broken as an older woman's voice belted out, "Can I help you, sir?"

The line was gone in front of him. He was next. "Sorry," he said as he dropped the conglomeration of goods onto the counter. He watched the elderly woman's spotted hands wipe the items across the laser scanner and his eyes flitted to the display, hoping the total would be within his estimated cost and that he'd have enough cash to cover it all. When she read the total, he was relieved to find he did indeed, have enough cash. In fact, he had a little extra.

With a lightning quick motion, he grabbed the red-lensed sunglasses and tossed them across the counter. "I'll take these, too," he said.

The sunglasses were scanned and dropped into the bright yellow plastic bags. Scott handed over the cash, feeling suddenly slightly ill to his stomach. "Thanks," he said as he snatched up the change and the bags and walked briskly to the door. His hands felt inside the bag as he walked. He pulled out the cap first and slid it over his hair. He'd never much liked wearing a hat, but it was a proven that they offered a certain amount of anonymity. Next, he pulled out the screwdriver. As he walked, he passed another Toyota Camry and repeated the number in his mind. He dropped to his haunches at the back of Julia's car and quickly started loosening the screws holding on the license plate. He dropped the screws onto the ground and tucked the plate under his arm. Walking casually, he did the same at the front of the vehicle, removing the front plate as well. He didn't even look around to see if anyone was watching, figuring that would be even more suspicious, as he unlocked the door and tossed the thin pieces of metal behind the passenger seat and his bags next to him.

Removing the paper and marker, he wrote in extra large letters on the paper: stolen tags, and wrote down the other Camry's license number. Ripping off a few pieces of tape, he exited the car and opened the rear door. He affixed his sign to the inside of the rear window and closed the door. Behind the steering wheel again, Scott slid the key into the ignition. The engine idled, but the car didn't move for an instant. Scott stared at the bag lying on the seat next to him.

_Why'd you do it?_ he asked himself. He stuck his hand into the plastic and pulled out the sunglasses. They were far cheaper than any of the shades Xavier had provided for him throughout the years, and their lenses weren't as thick and heavy, but the color of red was exactly the same. His hands shook slightly as he circled the frames in his hands. Finally, he slid the frames over his ears and, when he opened his eyes, the world around him was re-cast in shades of red. With one simple motion, the world looked familiar again. A sense of calm came over Scott and he felt a wave of confidence surge inside. For the first time in weeks, he felt like himself again.

Still, there was something troubling to him, a feeling deep in his gut he couldn't seem to pinpoint or ignore. Swallowing hard, Scott threw the car into reverse and exited the parking lot. In a matter of minutes, he was back on the Interstate. With a relative sense of security allowed by his forged license number, he leaned back in the comfortable seat and rubbed his chin, driving with one arm. He would stop at the next rest stop, get his bearings and find the best route to New York. Once in the state, he would be good to go. He knew upstate New York like no one else, and, if all went according to plan, he'd see his friends, his home, in a matter of several hours and this whole nightmare would be behind him.


	10. Rest for the Weary

On the grey cloth seat next to Scott, a large map was unfolded and a singular path was highlighted in yellow. "X's" in blue ink were marked incrementally on the road signifying landmarks passed. As another exit sign flew past, Scott leaned over, quickly found the name, and marked another "X." From all appearances, he was nearly halfway there. From what he could tell, he'd started out in Defiance, Ohio, and he was now well into Pennsylvania.

He'd been driving for five hours, and the sun was starting to go down. His legs were cramping, and he needed to use the bathroom. _This is ridiculous,_ he thought. _What am I running from?_ He'd had plenty of time to think over his actions on the road. Here, away from the confines of the hospital, his plan was beginning to feel a little flawed.

_I should be going to the police, not trying to hide from them, right?_ He asked himself. The answer wasn't as forthcoming as it should have been. His mind had a way of going in circles. Nothing was making too much sense. He had no way of knowing if he'd been captured, if everything was an illusion, or even, given the marvelous and seemingly impossible adventures he'd had, transported to another dimension or reality. In any reality, though, the X-Men had always had less than pleasant relationships with the police. There was no telling what would happen if he walked through the door and started shouting "Kidnapping!"

As a pang of pain swept through his bladder, Scott decided to postpone his debate. For the moment, he needed a break. Speeding down the road, he soon pulled off of the interstate at a rest stop. There were few cars in the large parking lot, and Scott maneuvered his Camry near the compound before shifting the gear into "park." He turned the car off and was once again bombarded by silence. A wave of intense warmth flooded over him and with it a shatteringly powerful wave of fatigue. It was Scott's first day out of the hospital bed in weeks, and his body was suddenly, and powerfully, reminding him.

Scott's head bobbed as he tried to fight the onslaught of lethargy, but it was a futile battle. Finally, his tired hand fumbled beneath his seat, and, pulling the lever, he lowered the back. Almost as soon as he'd closed his eyes, he was asleep.

A stab of pain in his lower stomach wrested Scott from his sleep. Struggling to sit upright, he found the steering wheel with his hands and pulled himself up. He rubbed his eyes under the frames of his scarlet-tinted sunglasses and tried to focus his eyes. Looking around him, the rest area was flooded with overhead lights, but night had set in fully. It was pitch dark. Turning the key to "On," Scott angrily pounded the dash when the digital clock faded to life and displayed the time. _1:30,_ Scott thought. _How could I be so careless and stupid?_ The engine sprang to life, and he dropped the gearshift into reverse when his bladder warned him that it wasn't going to be ignored any longer.

He leaned forward in the seat, cramping, and finally conceded defeat. His fingers found the door handle, and he grabbed the keys from the ignition and shoved them in his pocket. He considered running, but the resulting "slushing" proved too painful, so he walked with a quick, stiff-legged gait instead. The compound housing the restrooms was rather simple in design—basically just a breezeway with the men's restroom on one side and the ladies' on the other. In the middle, a thin wall held a map of Pennsylvania and the surrounding areas and brochures for local tourist traps. Scott didn't pay much attention, though, as he rushed to the door of the bathroom and finally found release.

While washing his hands, he stared at his image in the mirror. His skin was pale and he looked haggard. His hair was a mess and, looking down, he noticed he was still wearing the sweat pants. He rolled his eyes and decided now was as good a time as any to change. He hurried back to his car. On the way, he passed a young woman, he guessed in her early twenties. Her hair was bleached blond, and she had a good figure—attractive enough, but definitely not Scott's type. She shot him a friendly, but nervous smile, and Scott returned the favor. Her nervousness was not unwarranted. He'd heard rest stops could be dangerous for women traveling alone.

Continuing towards the car, Scott opened the driver's door and climbed in. He could change pants as easily in the car as he could in the bathroom. The parking lot was empty except for his and two other cars. It was unlikely anyone would care. He kicked off his shoes and shucked down the sweat pants. Tossing them aside, he glanced up long enough to see a man walking towards the compound. He was tall and, though he had an obvious gut hanging over his belt, his shoulders were broad and his build solid. He wore a black Steelers jacket and his bald head gleaned back at Scott.

Scott watched the man walk for a few seconds. Something about the way he moved seemed strange… Abandoning the thought, he reached into the seat next to him and grabbed his new pants. They unfolded as the fell towards the floor of the car, and Scott raised his knee to his chest to slide his foot through the pant leg. His eyes glanced upwards just in time to see the bald man turn left, towards the ladies' restroom.

Brow furled as Scott considered the possibilities. He certainly didn't want to rush headlong into a situation. He had no way of knowing the man was doing anything wrong. For all he knew, the woman was a prostitute or a mistress, and the meeting had been arranged. The possibilities were endless. With his naked leg still jammed against steering wheel, Scott stared at the door of the women's restroom.

_I don't need this,_ Scott thought. _I have troubles of my own. For all I know, the police could be right behind me. I don't have time for this. It's probably nothing._

The rationale came quickly, and Scott was trying his best to turn his thoughts from the events when a quick, stifled scream rang out.

In an instant, Scott was outside of his car. He jumped into his pants, and pulled them around his waist as he ran, bunching his boxers tightly around his legs. His shoe-less feet slapped the pavement, and he pulled the zipper closed as he rammed the door to the women's restroom open.

The large man was lying on the tiled floor on top of the blond, his massive right hand covering the poor woman's mouth and half of her face. Her eye was already red and purple with the startings of a painful bruise. The man's other hand was up the woman's blouse. Her legs were parted, but her pants were still on.

Scott stood, frozen for an instant. All of the horrible things he'd witnessed in his life as an X-Man did little to compare to the scene before him.

The bald man released the woman's mouth, and she immediately started whimpering and sobbing. Scott heard the clatter of metal against the tile, and when the bald man turned towards him, there was silver pistol in his hand. It must have been lying on the floor next to them.

"You don't know what you just did, Shades," the burly man said.

Scott swallowed hard as the man's thumb slid down the back of the pistol and the sound of a bullet sliding into the gun's chamber echoed on the bathroom walls.


	11. Wounds

With the single eye of a pistol staring unblinkingly at him, Scott Summers couldn't help but thinking he could have planned his entrance a little better. As he stood, frozen, the gunman raised his second hand to the gun. This man knew what he was doing, and there was no hesitation or fear in his grip. _He really intends to kill me! _ Scott told himself.

Remembering his training, Scott slowly raised his hands. It was to his benefit to appear as submissive and fearful as possible--anything to buy him some time.

"P-please no," Scott said. He didn't have to try to hard to bring the quiver of fear to his voice. The madness in the rapist's eyes would have been inspiration enough, if Scott's voice wasn't already unsteady in his anger. "I just, I heard somebody scream…"

The bald man's face spread into a sick smile. He obviously enjoyed the feeling of superiority his firearm afforded him.

_And people call mutants 'monsters,'_ Scott thought.

The man had apparently been trained in the use of a gun, Scott gathered, as he made sure not to get within Scott's arm length. Disarming the man was going to be a real trick. Scott found his hand itching to grab for his shades. Years of habit and training told him that a narrow ruby-colored optic blast would easily be enough to knock the gun from his hand. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be an option at the moment. Scott chanced a glance at the blond on the floor. Tears carried black eye makeup down her face, and her own hands were cupped to her mouth. She seemed to be gasping for air, undoubtedly stifling a scream. Her eyes were wild, though, and Scott knew she was in shock.

His eyes, hidden behind cheap red sunglasses, narrowed and glared at the man in front of him with renewed determination. He knew that the key was to keep calm, to think rationally, to keep his eyes open for the right opportunity, and to then act without hesitation and with unbridled aggression. Otherwise, he'd be dead for sure.

"D-don't kill me," Scott continued. "I'll give you whatever you want. I'll give you anything."

"I want you to get on your knees," the large man said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Y-yeah, w-whatever," Scott said. Slowly, and purposefully shakily, he bent his knees. He did his best to look like he was staring at the tip of the gun, but his eyes never left the dark, dead-looking pits that were the rapist's eyes.

Finally, the man took a step forward. "And now," he said. "You can die." He raised his arm, locked at the elbow, and leveled it directly between Scott's eyes.

Scott stared directly at the man. He watched the glee spark in his attacker's eyes and he heard him flex his fingers on the gun's hilt. Scott did his best to find footing with his socked foot on the tiled ground.

"Better men than you have tried," Scott said. With a motion he'd practiced innumerable times, Scott pivoted his torso, and struck his raised right arm directly into the attacker's outstretched arm. He pushed up with his foot, trying to rise, but his foot slid. His knee slapped back onto the ground painfully, and Scott lost his balance. Dropping his arm, he tucked the attackers arm under his own and tried to grab the gun.

Directly behind him, the bald man let out a furious howl. A painfully loud blast erupted in the confines of the bathroom, and Scott felt fire tear through his side, but his teeth only clenched tighter.

Both men were clutching onto the silver gun with all of their might, and with both hands. The bald man released his left hand and squeezed it from under Scott's torso and began laying blow after blow on Scott's back. Scott responded by repeatedly thrusting his elbow into the man's gut and chest. Finally, he was able to get his elbow under the man's chin, and he knocked his head backwards violently. Scott twisted the gun and heard the pop as the rapist's finger, still on the trigger, dislocated. The gun fired again, but was pointed towards the ceiling this time. Dust and powder rained down on Scott's head as he pulled the gun from the man's fingers.

Breathing heavily, he tried to pull himself off of the larger man, who was still yelling in pain and fury. He managed to spill the bullets out onto the floor before he felt the attacker's arms around his stomach. Before he could act, he was being pulled over the man's head, and his own face was being pushed into the tiles.

"You're good, Shades," the man said through gasps for air. Scott felt his large hands holding him to the ground as he shifted his weight and regained his footing. The rapist let up, and Scott felt his sweaty hands grab his chin and the back of his head to snap his neck.

Letting out a cry that tore through his throat, Scott spun on the floor, his legs colliding with the rapist's. The large man's weight came crashing to the ground. Scott struggled to get out from under him, but only partially succeeded. Once again, the men were both on the cold ground, raining blows on each other. Finally, Scott got the upper ground. With his left hand on the large man's chest, Scott raised his fist above his head.

"Bang," he said, repeating a favorite line of his teammate's. "You dead." Scott punched the man across the face with the last remainder of his strength. The rapist's head twisted, and he fell unconscious, and Scott fell on top of him—exhausted.

Scott didn't know how long he laid there, struggling for air, but finally he found the strength to move his hands to find the ground and begin lifting himself off of the still form beneath him. He rolled onto his back, and a sharp stab of pain in his side reminded him that he hadn't been entirely successful. He grabbed his ribs on his right side and pulled his shaking fingers to find them wet with blood. The cheap sunglasses were bent and twisted on his face, and Scott, disgusted, pulled them from his face and threw them across the bathroom. _Leader of the X-Men, _he told himself. _Yeah, right._ The glasses clattered onto the floor next to the blond woman, who was still lying on the ground, whimpering.

"Are you… okay?" Scott asked, wincing as he raised himself from the floor. Her eyes didn't move. He stepped over to her. "Hey," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, you're going to be alright. You're safe. Hey." He shook her softly, and, finally, her eyes shifted and she looked in Scott's eyes.

She screamed, and Scott flinched instinctively, but then she simply started bawling her eyes out.

"It's okay," Scott said. He tried to calm her by rubbing her shoulder, but she jerked sharply from his touch.

"I have to leave," she said. "I have to get out of here." She started kicking her feet and pushing herself up from the floor.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Scott said. "Just a minute. You can't leave yet." He held her down gently, but she definitely didn't seem to like the idea. "You have to call the police and wait for them."

"No, no, no, no," she said. "I can't do that. What… What if he would wake up?" Her face twisted into tears yet again, and she started scooting herself backwards, farther away from her attacker, until her back was resting against the white-painted cinder blocks that made up the wall of the bathroom.

Scott looked over at the unconscious man. She had a valid point. He walked back over to prostrate form and headed for his feet. The rapist was wearing black work boots. Scott lifted one from the ground and started weaving the long, thin shoe lace free of the metal hooks that held the shoe on the man's ankle. Finally, he got it free enough and pulled it clear of the shoe like a loose thread. He tested the tensile strength of the lace, tugging it with both hands, and decided it would do. Pulling the large man's hands behind his back, Scott began criss-crossing the lace around his wrists and finally tied them in a knot Remy had shown him. By all accounts, it should have held a gorilla, so Scott wasn't too concerned about the man breaking free. To be on the safe side, Scott repeated the efforts by freeing the other shoe lace and tying it tightly around the man's wrists as well.

"There you go," Scott said as he was finishing up. "He won't break free of that."

Just as Scott was pulling his fingers free from the knot, the laces grew taut. He'd made it just in time. The rapist had awoken.


	12. Interrogation

"You just wait 'till I get my hands on you, you little piece'a…" the man murmured with his face to the ground. He started struggling, rocking back and forth and trying to raise up from the ground.

Scott quickly placed his foot on the larger man's back and gave it a decent push. The man grunted under the pressure and stopped moving.

When Scott raised his eyes, the blond victim had disappeared. Confused, his eyes searched the stalls and saw her sitting on the floor next to one of the toilets. "That's a good idea," Scott said to the lady. "Why don't you stay in there. Do you have a cell phone?" he asked. "Any way to call the police?" Under his foot the large man started struggling again. Scott increased the pressure on the man's back, but he still continued to try and pull the restraints free from his wrists.

"Why don't you just relax," Scott said.

"Why don't you just shut the hell up!" the man retorted, and started spitting the dirt from his mouth. He started turning his head sharply, back and forth, and finally got Scott in his peripheral vision. "Hey, what happened to your shades, Shades?" he said, his voice pinched as he strained to see Scott, standing above him.

Scott looked down at the man with disdain. Something strange happened, then, and it turned Scott Summers' blood cold. The rapist, lying on the floor, looked up at Scott and the expression on his face changed from sarcastic arrogance to shock and recognition.

"Hey…" he said. "I know you from someplace," the rapist said. "I saw your picture…"

The man was silent for an instant, undoubtedly searching his memory. Scott didn't know what to think or do. Had this man seen him on TV as Cyclops? Finally, had someone recognized him? Were his memories of the life he'd lived finally validated? Or had this man seen his picture for an entirely different reason? Was it possible that he knew Julia?

"Scott Summers," the man said. "Yeah… yeah, that's your name."

"How did you know that?" Scott asked, with a hint of panic in his voice.

The man beneath his foot laughed. "What, is it a secret?" he said.

"Tell me!" Scott said, agitated. He pushed down hard with his foot until he wasn't sure he could push any harder.

"Okay, okay!" the man finally said through a cry of pain. "Geez! You're a crazy!"

Scott didn't comment on the fact that the man was a sexual offender, he simply let off of the pressure and repeated the question. "How do you know who I am?"

"You're that cop who was in a coma," the man said. "Your name came over the radio a few hours ago saying you'd gone missing. A possible kidnapping, they said."

_Cop?_ Scott asked himself. That seemed strange to him. No one from the police force had come to visit him in the hospital, and this was the first he'd heard of it. It didn't seem to fit. On top of that realization, he now knew for a fact that the police were looking for him. He repeated what the man said in his mind, and something else struck him as strange.

"You're a cop?" Scott said. There was no answer, so Scott dropped to the floor and started patting the man down. He found his wallet in his back pocket and pulled it loose. The wallet fell open, and a bright badge flashed back at him. Scott swore under his breath.

"You're supposed to be helping people," he said. "And you do this?"

The man struggled violently with his restraints, enraged by Scott's comments, but the laces held. Disgusted, Scott drew back his foot and kicked the man squarely in the stomach. He dropped the wallet on the man's back.

"How many people are looking for me?" Scott asked. "How far away are they?"

The man on the floor was coughing and trying to catch his breath. "Go to hell," he said.

Scott stood for a moment, thinking, and knew he'd been in one place for far too long. Rubbing his chin, the beginnings of a plan stirred in his mind, and he headed for the door.

"Hey!" a woman's voice cried. "You're not just going to leave me here with this guy, are you?" The door to the stall swung open and the blond marched out, suddenly very alert and very angry.

Perturbed, Scott was growing impatient. He didn't have time for this… "Did you call the police?" he asked.

"Yeah, I told'em everything. I even told'em the guy said your name was Scott Summers," she said. "But you can't just leave me here."

Scott rubbed his brow. _Great,_ he thought. _Just great._ _Now what do I do?_

He was silent for a few seconds, and then suddenly drew his foot back and landed a swift kick across the larger man's face. Once again, the rapist fell unconscious. "There," Scott said. "That should do it."

Once again, he crouched at the man's side and he pulled his keys from his front pocket. Tossing them in the air and catching them, he started for the door once again.

"But you're shot!" the lady called after him.

"I'll be fine," he said, and he left the bathroom. Quickly, Scott walked to the large map illuminated in the travel plaza. His eyes and fingers traced the nearby area, searching for a very specific set of words. Finally, his finger tapped what he was looking for. "Bingo," he whispered aloud. Memorizing the roads and turns he needed to take, Scott repeated the path three times, and then hurried towards the parking lot.

Pushing the "unlock" button on the keys repeatedly, he aimed the device at each of the cars until one finally lit up and he heard the doors unlock. His side burned like fire, so he stepped primarily with his one foot, and held his arm tightly to his side as he walked briskly to the car. Pulling the door open, his eyes searched the cabin quickly until he found what he was looking for. Sitting on the passenger seat was a large police walkie-talkie. He grabbed it, shut the door, and tossed the keys onto the ground.

He hurried to his car, making sure the radio was turned on as he went, and slammed the door shut when he arrived. Taking a deep breath, Scott tried to prepare himself for what he was about to do. There was a very distinct possibility he could die trying it, and an even stronger likelihood he'd be arrested, but something inside him told him that being caught by the police wasn't the answer. His gut told him to go home.

"And that's where I'm going to go," he said. Dropping the gear into reverse, Scott gunned the engine and headed for the interstate. "And nothing is going to stand in my way."

**Author's note: Sorry for another short chapter, but I figured I'd better get something up before the weekend. Some interesting revelations this time, no?**


	13. Flight

**Author's Note: For animal lovers, there is a scene of slight violence. No real harm done. I just thought I would warn those who are sensitive to such things. Enjoy the longest chapter (I think) since the first one! The next one is probably going to be short.**

**------------------**

Scott listened to the banter of the police with as much concentration as he could spare from his driving. It was a strange road for him, and he had to keep repeating the directions he'd memorized in his mind for fear of forgetting them. The fatigue in his muscles and bones were really starting to catch up with him. His back was complaining and his side burned like there was a flaming sword stuck between his ribs.

He'd wadded his sweat pants into a ball and currently had them shoved under his arm, compressed against the open wound. The bullet had simply grazed the skin. The wound was probably only a quarter on an inch deep, but it extended several inches across his side. The largest amount of damage had been from the heat and gun powder imbedded into his skin. The area surrounding the wound was blistered and red. Put simply, Scott was in a bad way.

The police had found the rapist tied and unconscious on the floor and a hysterical woman locked in a bathroom stall a mere ten minutes after Scott left. It was another fifteen minutes before the stories were sorted out and some cars were sent in pursuit. There was a slight debate what they were chasing him over. After all, he clearly hadn't been kidnapped, and the car he'd "stolen" was registered in his name. Finally, it was agreed that he'd technically fled a crime scene.

Many of the voices that came over the radio seemed to recognize the name "Scott Summers." It was slightly odd. Scott had spent his entire life being better known as a codename.

From what he could tell, they didn't have any clue where'd he gone. He'd been off of the interstate for a couple of miles. Without any evidence to follow, the possibilities were endless. Accelerating from a stop sign, Scott made a sharp right turn and followed a street sign from the map. He was close. He could even see the lights ahead of him, glowing above the slight slopes of pasture fields.

Finally, he saw the sign that marked his destination: Hazleton Municipal Airport.

At the sight, Scott's foot unconsciously pressed harder on the accelerator and his jaw set with an uncertain conviction but desperate dedication. He was about to pass the "point of no return," and he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to take that step. The alternative, returning with the police and possibly falling back into the hands of Julia and whoever she was working for, was equally as upsetting as the flagrant illegal activity he had planned.

_Who are you kidding, Scott?_ he asked himself. _This isn't the first time you've broken the law._

Gravel flew as the wheels on Julia's Camry skidded to a stop near the fenced gate of the airfield. Scott quickly turned off the headlights and, squinting through the moonlight, tried to get a look inside. He didn't see anyone walking around or even watching the gate. As he'd guessed, it looked like a very small field, used primarily for private purposes. He dropped the car's transmission into reverse, turned the wheel, and started backing the Camry parallel to the fence down the slight slope, away from the road. Once under the canopy of a few trees and sufficiently out of sight from the road, Scott parked the car, threw his "compress" into the car's floor, grabbed the keys and his screwdriver, and exited the car. He shoved the keys and screwdriver in his pockets and eyed the fence. It wasn't too tall, but the top was covered with a twirling run of barbed wire and a straight wire that Scott recognized as electrified fencing.

Undeterred, he approached the fencing, centering his gaze on one of the posts, figuring that the fence would be sturdiest where attached to the metal pole, and thus his ascent and crossing-over would be simplest there. Without missing a beat, he dug his feet into the tiny metallic "rings" in the fence and, hand-over-hand, foot-over-foot, began climbing up the face of the large fence. When he reached the top, he took a quick look around, again looking for anybody who might spot him or a sign of security cameras. He didn't see anything, but he did spot his target: the hangars. As expected, they were fairly well-lit. He'd worry about that later.

Dangling precariously, Scott gripped the top of the post tightly. He felt blood flowing freely from his open wound, excited from his strenuous activity and increased heart rate. His arms shook and his legs began to cramp as his toes strained to stay in their tiny footholds. With his one free hand, Scott pulled the screwdriver from his pocket. Making sure his fingers were touching only the plastic handle, he touched the metal end to the strand of electric fencing. There was really no way to know whether the wire was "hot" or not. He just had to assume that it was. Carefully, he twisted the screwdriver, wrapping the wire tight around the base. Then, pulling sharply, he bent the wire. It was thick wiring, designed to carry a heavy shock. Tugging again and again, he finally broke the wire. Making sure the ends were a safe distance from anything metal, he went to work crossing over the barbed wire as quickly as possible. If the wire had been "hot," then there was almost certainly an alarm system attached to it. Security would be on their way almost immediately. Time was of the essence.

Summoning as much strength and guts as he could, Scott vaulted himself over the top, supporting his weight on his right arm, which was placed on the top of the post. His arm caught the barbed wire as he came over. Suddenly, he was glad he was wearing his jacket. The fabric took most of the abuse, leaving him with only some light scratches. The real abuse came when he hit the ground below. He bent his knees and tried rolling with the fall, but the impact still rattled his teeth, and he was stunned, on the ground, for a few seconds.

When he finally rolled over to his hands and knees, he raised his head only to see bristling white teeth and manic eyes staring at him. The low guttural growling of a German Shepherd guard dog filled the air. Scott tried to raise up in as non-aggressive fashion as he could, but the dog had been trained well. Without warning, he launched forward and caught Scott's outstretched arm firmly in his teeth. Scott stifled the shout of pain that threatened to erupt, and he fell roughly to the ground under the force of the dog's assault. The dog's growling only increased in volume, as Scott began trying to force the dog off in a panic. He felt the pressure of his teeth increase and dig deep into his arm. The more he struggled, the deeper the cuts seemed to go. Suddenly remembering his training, Scott punched the dog in its eye as hard as he could with his left hand. The dog's grip eased slightly, but he didn't release. Scott rained blows on the poor animal. It pained him to do it, but there was definitely a bigger picture here. He couldn't afford to be stopped now.

A metallic object nearby caught his eye. Straining, he reached his left hand and caught the edge of the screwdriver with his fingers. Grasping it tightly, Scott held it out, considering where to land his blow. "Sorry," he whispered. With gritted teeth, he dug the tip of the screwdriver deep into the thigh of the dog's front leg. The dog let out a pained yelp and leaped off of him. Scott held tight onto the screwdriver, now tipped with blood.

Scott tried to raise up, but fell backwards. He was losing blood fast, and he was growing weaker by the minute. _I've come too far,_ he thought. _Get up!_ he yelled internally. He rose unsteadily to his feet, still holding the screwdriver like a weapon in his hand. The guard dog stood nearby, still growling, but he didn't approach. Scott kept one eye on the animal as he hurried to the hangars. Time was quickly running out.

Walking through the brightly-lit hangars was scary to say the least, but Scott walked as tall as his side injury would allow him, as if he belonged there and was in a slight hurry. He approached one of the large doors, held down by a small padlock. He raised his foot high and started kicking the lock and its metallic ring over and over. After a few blows, the lock fell open. _If you're going to own a plane, _Scott thought, _you might as well spring for an expensive padlock._

He tried not to think about what the owners' choice in lock might have meant for the quality in aircraft as he yanked the large hangar door open. The runners sounded loudly in the night, its only competition the sound of the dog barking in the distance. When the door finally reached its apex and the noise ceased, a new sound caught Scott's attention. In the far distance, he heard the wailing of police sirens. He turned but he couldn't see the lights. They were still too far away, hidden by the sloping hill. With increased urgency, Scott entered the hangar. His hand slapped the light switch, illuminating a small but clean aircraft. He immediately recognized the model, known for its fuel-efficiency and light weight.

Scott walked around the plane, giving it a quick visual check. He removed the re-fueling line and wheel chocks and tossed them clear. The visual check didn't set off any blaring alarms of danger, but Scott was incredibly uncomfortable that he didn't have more time to survey the plane's condition. As a pilot and a just all-around anal person, Scott was used to following the checklist extremely carefully before making any flight, even if he'd checked the plane the day before. Anything less was tantamount to suicide. Any pilot would tell you that.

Today, Scott was learning, was a day for breaking rules. He stepped up to the wing and opened the cockpit. He checked the ignition and, fortunately, the key was in it. Pilots were sometimes gracious that way. _Bless you,_ he thought silently to the owner of the plane. _I'll try to get it back to you without a scratch._ Scott's lips drew into a wry grin as he turned the ignition and eased the throttle up. _For both our sakes'._

As the plane lurched forward, three police officers lined up from the left with their guns raised. Scott couldn't hear what they were shouting over the roar of the propeller and, honestly, he didn't care. They all rolled and scrambled out of the way as he leapt forward from the hangar. Going slightly faster than it was safe to on the ground, Scott taxied himself towards the runway, attaching his safety harness as he drove. Unafraid of making noise, he groaned loudly as his side complained at the stretching of his torso.

As he approached the runway, the green lights illuminating the pavement went out, undoubtedly the work of the police. It was too late. Scott had a visual image, and he wouldn't need the entire length anyway. Pulling down the throttle, he flipped on the almost non-effective headlights, and watched the speedometer. He watched the needle and began feeling the tug of the wings, grabbing for the air. He pulled back slightly on the wheel and, as the elevators raised on the tail, the nose rose into the air and, with a slight and familiar lurch in his stomach, Scott was airborne.

Despite the fact he was fatigued, bleeding, and mere seconds away from police arrest, Scott raised both fists and shook them, shouting aloud in celebration. "Yeah!" he cried. He leveled off his ascent at an elevation lower than normal. He didn't want to risk hitting another aircraft. Setting an easterly course, Scott felt his excitement growing. It felt good, no, it felt right, sitting inside the cockpit of a plane. He was no policeman. His place was in the sky, in the stars. He was an X-Man, and the family waiting for him at his destination would prove it. Once and for all.


	14. Groundings

White spots mirroring the stars on the black landscape of the darkened ground bled into streaks. The streaks, then, started twirling, slowly. Behind the wheel of the small airplane, Scott closed his aching eyes tightly. A surge of fatigue rushed to his head, and he snapped his eyes open again. For a few more seconds, his eyes were clear.

"C'mon, Scott," he said aloud over the roar of the propeller. "Hold it together." The little energy reserves he'd developed since awakening atrophied and weak were totally sapped. He was running on fumes, and he knew it. Sheer will power kept him from keeling over. His shirt was sticky and wet with blood, and the dog bites on his arm were beginning to burn with infection. He'd made great time in the air, aside from the wide berth he'd given New York City and its airspace, and the trip had been without incident so far. The biggest threat, he knew, was falling asleep, but there were too many factors pushing him towards slumber. Scott didn't know how much longer he could hold out. The white noise of the engine wasn't helping in the least.

"What are you doing up here?" he said. "You have no business in the air in your condition." He let out a hysterical chuckle. He didn't know which was funnier—the fact that he was chastising himself aloud, that he found that funny, or the fact that he had to be on death's door before he found a sense of humor.

Sighing, he decided to search the ground below for familiar landmarks. According to his calculations, he knew he was getting close. As many times as he'd flown through this area in the dark, he was confident he could find his way, even without the instruments or maps he was accustomed to. Sure enough, he saw a shopping center, lit like a Christmas tree, sitting atop a hill that he'd always looked for when flying this way. It always meant that he was only five minutes from home. Of course, that was with the Blackbird's speed. In this plane, that time would definitely be longer. The real joy came from seeing something familiar.

With the flight path he'd chosen, to limit his visibility, Scott was approaching from the south-east. With the spotting of the mall, he knew he'd found his familiar approach home, a carefully plotted path least likely to land the conspicuous Blackbird on the evening news. The thought again made Scott smile. Adrenaline and excitement was beginning to pull him out of his downward spiral. He knew this place. That had to confirm it. He wasn't crazy. It had all been a horrible scam.

"Wife, my eye," Scott said, his thoughts falling strangely towards Julia. Her performance had been most convincing of all. And now, so close to home, he realized that she more than anything else had almost convinced him to believe the lie.

A swift motion to his right caught Scott's eye and shattered his thoughts. A large, black helicopter dropped from above and behind directly in front of the plane. Flashing lights and the word "Police" written in white on the whirly-bird's side left their intent rather clear. Scott swore loudly and gripped the steering wheel tightly. "You don't know who you're dealing with," he said. Clenching his teeth, Scott turned the wheel and pulled back hard. The plane flipped and banked hard, and Scott's stomach struggled to keep up. The smaller aircraft, with its relatively weak engine, was no match for the helicopter's speed or maneuverability, but Scott was no typical pilot, and he wasn't about to give up now. He leveled the wings and then dropped altitude. He pushed the throttle up and the roar of the engine and propeller grew substantially louder.

Flying dangerously close to the ground, especially in the dark, Scott shot glances in every direction, trying to trace the helicopter. Before long, not one, but two helicopters dropped into formation: one on each side of the plane. The plane began to shake from the turbulence created by the two massive blades so nearby. A voice came over a loud speaker, but Scott couldn't understand what was said. He'd been flying with the radio turned off. It was dangerous, he knew, but it also kept pesky air traffic controllers from bothering him.

He checked his instrumentation and corrected his bearings by jerking the plane left. The helicopters both jerked quickly away. This time, he understood the booming voice as he was cursed up and down. "I'm just getting warmed up," Scott said. At this speed, though, he knew he wouldn't need to maneuver much longer. _Professor Xavier would kill me if he was still at the Institute,_ Scott thought. _Too bad. Thankfully, Emma will have no compunctions about sending the police on their merry way, confused how a plane could simply vanish into thin air._

Pretty sure that the plane he was flying wasn't equipped with vertical thrusters, Scott knew he was going to have to find an area of land large enough to land a plane on. He searched his memory, but he knew there wasn't any stretch of road wide or long enough. There weren't any air fields close enough to the Institute, and he probably wouldn't make it off the field if he did land there. No, he was going to have to land in the front yard of the mansion if he was going to get away from his "escorts."

Scott shook his head and rolled his shoulders, trying to relax. "This should be interesting," he said. To Scott's left, he saw the sky grow lighter as the sun started to peek around the horizon. It was almost dawn. Another familiar hill approached at startling speed. Scott eased the throttle back again. _Just on the other side of those trees,_ he thought. _So close…_ He could see the image in his mind. The brownstone mansion, A-frame ceilings, with two large wings on each side, the huge fountain, the basketball court, everything. The helicopters tried to get closer, realizing he was going down and trying to prevent it. Scott ignored them, knowing they wouldn't risk running into him.

Coming in fast and hard, Scott barely missed the treetops as his landing gear sent leaves flying. He pushed the wheel in, banking down, and just as immediately pulled the wheel back up again. "What?" he cried aloud. Instead of Xavier's Institute beneath him, there was nothing but the manicured grass and sand pits of a golf course. "No!" he cried aloud. "This can't be right." Gaining altitude, now, Scott veered the plane left and watched the ground beneath him. "Where the _hell is it?_"

As his small aircraft circled in the air, the helicopters and their pilots were obviously confused. They held back, still calling out orders from their loudspeaker. Scott continued to gaze at the ground, feeling his hopes die. Then, his excitement returned as a thought occurred to him. "Of course!" he said. It had to be camouflaged, hidden from above. How could he have been so stupid? He would have to chastise Henry for not telling him about the cloaking device sooner. Scott leveled out, now relying on his memory to remember a safe place to land. He'd REALLY be in trouble if he drove a plane through the side of the foyer. He smiled at the thought as he again prepared to land. It wasn't going to be smooth.

Flying low, Scott dipped the nose dangerously fast and then whipped it up again, parallel with the grass beneath him. He was coming in way too fast, but he'd have to make due. Easing the throttle and the steering wheel, the tires beneath him touched the earth. Scott slammed both feet onto the brakes and his head bobbed violently as he was thrown into the safety harness. The wheels tore into the soil and grass, leaving deep pits behind them, but Scott held his pressure on the brakes. The plane started to turn, the wing started to pitch. Scott eased the brake and twisted the wheel. He certainly didn't want to go into a roll. Finally, with an audible groan, the plane came to rest, the wheels completely buried in the dirt. Sighing heavily, Scott wiped the sweat from his brow, and then quickly released his harness. He'd survived, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. He wouldn't be happy until he saw their faces. Logan was probably already on his way, ready to rip out the heart of the 'Joker' had the nerve to park in the lawn.'

Scott practically fell out of the plane and landed on shaky legs. He went down on his shoulder, but rolled to his feet, and came out running. Only, the image of the golf course didn't disappear. Beneath his shoes there was still manicured grass. A few feet in front of him was a sand trap. A few feet farther was a green. Scott's pace slowed, and then sped, and then slowed again, until he finally stopped and fell to his knees. His fists clawed at the ground. It was real. "No," he said. "How could it not be here?" He jumped to his feet again, and started running where his memory told him the front door should be. Behind him, the roar of helicopter blades came to rest on the ground. He heard feet pounding the earth and gear shaking.

Scott passed the 'door,' but kept running, until, finally he reached a tree, standing right where the staircase should have been, leading up to his bedroom. With trembling hands, he slowly reached towards the dark oak. With just his fingertips, he grazed the wood, and felt the rough, unforgiving texture of bark against his skin. When the police surrounded him, shouting for him to 'Freeze,' Scott was pounding the tree with his fists, over and over again.

Scott let out a throat-ripping scream, and he saw the men around him freeze. "I'm not crazy!" he shouted. "It was here!" he said.

"Look, pal, we don't want any trouble, and we don't wanna hurt ya, okay?" one of the policeman, dressed in protective gear, said behind his plastic facemask. "So why don't you just lay down on the ground and give yourself up?"

Scott wanted to fight. He wanted to hit something, hit somebody, as hard as he could until his knuckles bled. He wanted somebody else to hurt as much as he was hurting. "It doesn't make sense," he said.

"You're under arrest, Mr. Summers," the same officer spoke up. "You have the right to remain silent. What you say can, and will, be used against you in the court of law."

He looked at the policemen's faces, illuminated by the rising sun, and he saw men who were cautious but confident, tired and concerned. They weren't angry. They didn't want to hurt him. They weren't the bad guys. Slowly, Scott lowered his reddened fists. The grimace fell from his face, and his head and shoulders drooped, defeated. "Okay, gentlemen," he said. "It's over."


	15. Deja vu

_**Author's Note: Many thanks to Closetfan for being such a faithful reader and reviewer. You rock. Obviously, chapter 14 was not the last. This is a short one, but it's the beginning of the transition to a somewhat different portion of the story. Thanks for coming back and your continuing support!**_

--------------------

The first thing he noticed as he slid into consciousness was the sound of people talking. Their voices were muffled, however, and they seemed to be far away. There was a beep, and the man cringed. The last vestiges of sleep shook clear of his mind. He froze, his eyes still closed. _Where am I?_ he asked himself. And, suddenly, the sounds surrounding him were all too familiar. _The hospital._

He went to raise his right arm, to reach for his sunglasses. His hand, however, was stopped short with a clanking of metal and a sharp jerk to the wrist. He was handcuffed to the bed. All hopes that he'd been dreaming were dashed. His hand fell back to the mattress with a light 'thud.' Slowly, the events of the night came back to him. The policemen had pushed his face onto the ground, handcuffing him, tossed his keys and bloody screwdriver onto the ground next to his face, jerked him up by his arms and led him to one of the helicopters. He vaguely remembered someone pulling up his shirt, examining his wound. Shortly afterwards, he fell over in the seat, and everything went black.

_And now I'm in a hospital bed, under arrest,_ Scott thought, and then a truly troubling thought occurred to him. _And Xavier's Institute, my friends, the life that I knew, from all indications, never existed._ With his left hand, which was free, Scott rubbed his eyes. He refused to allow himself to break down again. _So what does that mean?_ he asked himself, forcing his thoughts towards something constructive. _Does that mean I'm stuck inside an illusion? Is this an alternate dimension?_ They weren't new questions. He'd considered both as possibilities before. He'd even wondered if he hadn't somehow been time-tossed. From all evidence, an alternate reality seemed more and more to be the most viable theory. Even illusionists had to sleep. Scott would never underestimate the power of mutant illusionists. Wyngarde and his kind were incredibly threatening, but this illusion was too elaborate, too real, even for them… Wasn't it?

Scott had to believe it was. The new question, then, was what to do next. _Maybe it's time to start really facing the possibility that I could have made it all up,_ Scott thought. It seemed preposterous. How could someone remember an entire lifetime that didn't happen? Two lifetimes? And if he'd made up his life as an X-Man, why couldn't he remember anything of his life with Julia?

The questions only served to increase the intensity of his pounding headache. Relief came unexpectedly when heavy footsteps entered into the room. Scott opened his eyes and saw a middle-aged doctor, brown hair, large nose, streaks of white in his course-looking brown hair, staring at him through thin gold-framed glasses. He was flanked by two police officers, wearing the standard uniform. Scott didn't recognize the faces. He guessed he'd slept through a shift change.

"Ah, so you're awake," the doctor said. He shot Scott an obviously fake smile that flashed his nicotine-stained teeth. The doctor's eyes shot to the chart in his hand. "…uh, Mr. Summers," he said, finishing the greeting. "It would _seem_, Mr. Summers," he continued, "that you had a very busy night."

Scott responded with a soft snort, and he turned his head and stared at the ceiling. He'd gambled with his future by stealing that airplane. He knew the possible consequences when he'd stolen it. Unfortunately, it now seemed that he would spend the foreseeable future in prison. _Perfect_, he thought.

The grimace that was supposed to be a smile fell from the doctor's face. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, we've stitched and bandaged the wound on your side and sterilized the dog bites on your arm. You've lost a lot of blood, but your vitals were strong enough we didn't transfuse any. Aside from some bruises and some other minor injuries here and there, I would say you're ready to be released. Which means, we'll be handing you over to these gentlemen." The doctor nodded to the policemen and stepped between them. "All yours," he said. "Have a nice life, Mr. Summers," he called as he disappeared behind the emergency room divider curtain.

One of the policemen stepped forward. He was a young man, probably only twenty-three years old, Scott guessed, and his eyes held none of the sympathy the earlier policemen had displayed. He was here to collect a prisoner. He was unconcerned with the details. If anything, Scott would have guessed that he looked bored.

The policeman unlocked the handcuff holding Scott to the bed and the other man tossed an orange bundle of cloth onto Scott's chest. "Get dressed," the younger officer said. "And don't try anything funny." To emphasize the point, he drew his 'stick' from its holder on his belt and patted it in his hand.

Scott winced as he raised up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He felt his side and the bandages there. His bare feet slapped onto the tiles as he dropped to the ground. Unembarrassed, he dropped the hospital gown to the ground and pulled the orange jumpsuit on. The letters written in black on the front and back didn't escape his notice as he zipped the top closed. Only a few hours ago, he'd consoled himself before breaking and entering, before committing theft, with the thought that he'd broken the law many times before. Now, it would seem, the law had finally caught up with him. In a world where there were no mutants, where Scott would have never had any reason to be a criminal, he found himself being carted off to jail, powerless to escape.

The irony was sickening.

Pulling Scott by the arm, the police threw back the curtain and led him down the hall. The eyes of everyone he passed were transfixed, not on him, but on his newest brand-mark.

_Prisoner._


	16. Processing

Scott Summers' eyes stared blankly at his reflection. His face was shadowed with more than thirty-six hours worth of beard, his hair was greasy and stood stubbornly where it wasn't plastered to his head, and fresh cuts accented it all. If he hadn't been so god-awful tired, he probably would have smirked. For the first time, it kind of looked like the Scott Summers he recognized looking back at himself.

His arms were chained together with cuffs, and so his hands lay in his painfully brightly-colored lap. He had nodded off too many times to have any kind of accurate guess how long he'd been sitting in this interrogation room. He imagined it probably wasn't as long as it seemed. Every time his head jerked awake, he would resume staring at the unseen eyes on the other side of the mirror. He knew they were watching him, probably sipping coffee and eating doughnuts, if the TV shows he'd seen were to be believed.

Unconsciously, his lip raised into a sneer. Though he'd voluntarily surrendered himself back in Westchester County, he found himself full of aggression and contempt. Try as he might to talk reason to himself, the feelings wouldn't go away.

Scott's eyes snapped open from another half-nap as the doorknob turned and the door opened. The mechanics seemed agonizingly loud after the deafening silence. Scott winced and squinted towards his visitor. He had expected to see two officers, but the bespectacled man in the sports jacket that pulled up a seat in front of him was alone.

He sat a coffee cup Scott hadn't noticed onto the table and clicked the top of his pen with his thumb. He opened the folder in his hands, licked his fingers, and began flipping through the papers.

Scott simply stared at the man, unimpressed and not intimidated by the detective's "cool." The detective looked up and shifted in his chair. He cleared his throat. Scott guessed that his expression must have made the man uncomfortable. He didn't care.

"Sergeant Scott Summers," the detective said finally, staring back at Scott. He rubbed his reddish moustache, and then leaned forward, laying the folder onto the table. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He took a sip of his coffee. "I'm Detective Bates. I'm here to figure out just what the hell you thought you were doing up there," he said, pointing towards the sky.

Scott remained silent. There wasn't a simple answer to the question, and he certainly didn't feel like sharing a lengthy explanation.

Detective Bates sighed. "I'm sure you know the procedure. We ran your name. There's been some interesting things floating back to us, not the least of which is a possible kidnapping—with you as the victim—reported earlier today by your wife?" The confusion was obvious in his voice.

Still, Scott remained silent.

"Well," Bates said, "whether you want to talk about it or not, you're in a heapin' hell of a lot of trouble. You B&E an airport in Pennsylvania, take off in a stolen plane without any kind of clearance, fly suspiciously around New York City, and then avoid arrest by landing in the middle of a goddamn golf course." Bates laughed and the chair squeaked on the floor as he stood.

"Now I don't know who you think you are, but if I were sitting on that side of the table, I'd start gettin' _really_ cooperative right about now. He came around the table, leaned his hand on the heavy wooden surface, and lowered his face to Scott's. "Right now," Bates continued, his voice low and suddenly very serious, "I'm the only friend you got. The owner of that golf course you tore up is already screaming for blood and most of the guys here agree with him. But me, I look at this folder and I don't see a guy looking for trouble. I see an officer of the law, awards and commendations enough to fill two trophy cabinets, with a family and no criminal record. And I ask myself, 'why does a guy like that suddenly go nutzo and play the Red Baron with a stolen plane when, near as I can tell, he's never even stepped foot on an airport before?'"

Bates leaned in even closer. Morning breath mixed with coffee and apple-filled pastry filled Scott's nostrils. "It tears me all to pieces when I don't know the answer to a question."

There was a knock on the door and Bates pulled away from Scott's face and twirled around the table, tucking his hands into his khaki pockets. "Excuse me," he said.

He opened the door and Scott watched as an officer in full uniform whispered into the detective's ear. Bates' moustache twitched as the younger man spoke. Scott couldn't be sure, but he thought for sure he heard the word "coma" whispered. Finally, Bates nodded and thanked the officer. When the door was again closed, the detective rubbed his brow and swore under his breath. "Just when I thought it couldn't get any weirder," he muttered.

"Listen, Summers," he said. "Some men are coming to put you into the pen until somebody can decide what to do with you. I suggest you start thinking about that pretty wife of yours, your daughter, and what kind of future you want for them. Maybe that'll loosen your tongue."

With that, Detective Bates exited the room, and Scott was again slammed into silence. Slowly, he turned his bloodshot eyes, and stared into the mirror.

It wasn't long before the door burst open and Scott was jerked from his chair and led out of the small room, through a flurry of people and sounds, and through a heavy, barred door. On the opposite side, several areas were barred off, forming large communal cells. Each of them was occupied by a small group of ne'er-do-wells. Scott was escorted to the one on the right, furthest down the hall. It had a couple men less than the rest of the cells. The door was opened, and Scott was shoved inside. One of the officers entered the cell and released the handcuffs around Scott's wrists.

Scott remained unfazed by the cat-calls and yells of his fellow in-mates. In fact, he zoned them out completely. He rubbed his wrists as the policeman locked the door to the cell and knocked on the bars. "Make yourself at home," he said with a smile.

------------

**_I apologize for the short chapter. Still transitioning. Like always, I appreciate the reviews AND the associated constructive criticism. I'm sure I would make fewer mistakes if I would proofread... Sorry._**


	17. In and Out

Scott turned around to get a more thorough look at his new home for the foreseeable future. No one had mentioned anything about bail or contacting a bond agency, and Scott hadn't asked. He didn't have any money or any belongings to offer as collateral. Gazing at the empty walls and uncomfortable-looking bench that ran across three of them, he was content to take the officer up on his offer and try and get some rest.

As he approached an empty section of bench, the feel of several eyes on the back of his head told him that things weren't going to be as simple as all that. He froze. Before turning, he said, "Are you fellows looking for trouble?"

"Maybe we are," said a deep voice from behind him. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Scott sighed. Every single thing that had been happening to him seemed so clichéd. It was really starting to verge on the ridiculous. He turned slowly and faced the three men who were standing behind him. One of them was wearing a dark grey suit, his tie pulled loose and his shirt unbuttoned. The other two were young men, probably in their early twenties, Scott guessed, and were dressed in loose fitting t-shirts and baggy jeans.

"I don't have anything. You know that," Scott tried to reason. "What reason could you have for wanting to rough me up?"

The youngest-looking of the three with blond hair rubbed his nose and smiled. "We're bored," he said.

Scott tilted his head slightly to look around his would-be attackers and examined the remaining men in the cell. They were all cowering and showing bruises of their own on their faces. Scott shook his head. It didn't seem right that this kind of activity would be allowed within a police station, but he supposed the police had better things to do with their time than worry about the criminals they had already caught. At any rate, it seemed he had three men intent on passing the time by playing punching bag with his head. Unfortunately, Scott had other plans.

The other young man, who had brown hair and extraordinarily bad skin, stepped forward. Scott raised his fists, ignoring the stiffness in his injured arm. "You don't want to do this," Scott warned. "I'm a trained fighter."

"Yeah?" said the man in the suit. "Me too. Black belt in opening a massive can a…" The rest of the man's sentence was lost as he lunged forward, swinging his large fist towards Scott's head. Just as before, Scott's training kicked in and the world began moving in slow motion. The only sounds he heard were the commands he gave himself. _Step back, _he thought. Side-stepping, he grabbed the man's elbow and wrist. _Attack. _He twisted the man's arm and gave a sharp, calculated push to the man's elbow.. He heard the joint snap and allowed the man's forward momentum to carry him past him. The other two men converged, seemingly unaware of what had already happened to their "partner." This time, there was no sock slipping on the cold floor, he wasn't just waking from a much needed rest. This time, Scott Summers was tired, hungry, and angry at the world. Most importantly, he was tired of being pushed around and treated like a... Scott stopped the train of thought, astonished by his own thoughts. _I'm tired of being treated like a normal person,_ he repeated in his mind.

He didn't have time to dwell on the thought. In fact, the distraction nearly cost him dearly. A punch landed on his cheek, and Scott skillfully turned his body and face, allowing the blow to roll off of him as much as possible. Still twisting, he lowered into a roundhouse kick, catching the blond man behind the knees. He followed up with a hard jab to the man's nose, breaking it.

The brown-haired, pizza-faced boy stared at Scott in wonder and finally realized that this was a fight he didn't want to be a part of. Raising his hands in surrender, he backed towards the bench.

When the world again sped to normal speed, and Scott became aware of the sounds around him, he heard the applause of not only the inmates who had been terrorized by the trio but also cheers of those in the cells around them.

Scott sighed deeply, frustrated by the accolades of those around him. Violence wasn't something to be proud of. "I warned you," he said as he bent to help the blond young man rise to his feet. His help was rejected. The fair-haired man jerked away from Scott's hands and snorted blood from his nose.

"Stay the hell away from me, man," he said.

The older man in the suit would be worse off, Scott knew. He was bound to be in a lot of pain. Moving to his side, Scott winced at the agony on the man's face. "I'm sorry," Scott said. "You didn't leave me much choice."

"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" the man said through clenched teeth.

Scott paused. "Not far from here," he said. "In another lifetime."

Throwing the man's good arm over his shoulder, Scott helped him to his feet and moved him to the bench and then went to the door of the cell. "Officer!" he shouted. "Hey! We got some people hurt in here!"

At first, he was ignored, but Scott endured. Finally, a door opened and a couple of police officers appeared. The following minutes were filled with chaos, but eventually the three guilty parties were escorted out of the room, two of them headed to the hospital. With much of his cell's space freed up, Scott found a large area of bench, laid down on his back, and closed his eyes. Sleep came almost immediately.

"Scott Summers!" someone yelled.

Scott sat up with a start, for an instant confused at the bars surrounding him. His sleep had been deep and much-needed. Still, the bench wasn't very comfortable, and he rubbed his neck and stretched his back as he dropped his feet to the floor and looked to the direction of the voice. He noticed with the hint of a smirk the wide berth the rest of the inmates were giving him.

"Scott Summers!" the voice repeated.

"I'm here!" he replied. "What is it?"

The big-bellied officer at the door pulled open the bars. "Come with me," he said.

Scott fought the urge to stretch as he rose to his feet. He looked around him, looking for a hint of what was about to happen in the faces of the other men. There was nothing, except for a smile and the look of relief.

"What time is it?" Scott asked as he stepped out of the cell. The officer closed the door and slapped cuffs around Scott's wrists.

"It's about five," the policeman said while he pushed Scott forward.

"In the morning?"

"Yeah, and it's time for your warm milk," the large man said with sarcasm in his voice. "No, five PM. (Thank God.)"

Scott shook his head. He couldn't believe he'd slept so long. How long would he have slept if the beer-bellied man behind him hadn't come yelling? Hanging his head, he remembered the day when he could have run for three days without sleeping. His body just wasn't in the same shape it had been before. It seemed like a week had passed since he'd escaped the hospital.

_Oh well,_ he thought. _I'll have plenty of time to rest up. And get in shape._

He was led back to the interrogation room and seated. As the officer left, he called over his shoulder. "The detective will be right with you."

Scott shifted in the seat, sliding his rear onto the edge, trying to make himself comfortable. If the wait was anything like the first time around, he was going to settle in. Maybe he could even squeeze a little more sleep in…

The door flew open and Detective Bates stepped in, looking almost as disheveled as Scott. His hair was mussed and his eyes heavy with exhaustion. There were loose papers crinkled in his hands, and his countenance was full of a mixture of confusion and wonder.

Scott's brow furled. "What's going on?" he couldn't stop himself from saying.

"That's what I wanna know," Bates said with a hint of anger. "This has been one HELL-acious day, and I got one man to blame." His finger jabbed at Scott. "You."

Bates placed his hands on his hips and started pacing back and forth in front of Scott, pressing back his sports jacket and showing his white shirt half untucked from his trousers. "Now the way I see it," he continued. "You owe me big for the mountain of shit that just landed on my desk and for this headache I got that just won't quit, _and _for the fact that I ain't ripped that head o' yours off yet and tossed it to the sharks waitin' out front for you with their cameras and recorders."

Scott's frown only deepened. _Cameras?_ he asked himself. He raised his hand (and the one shackled to it) and rubbed his forehead. He wished he could get the fog out of his head and think clearly.

"Yeah, so I think, after all I been through, you could at least tell me what you were doing. What you were running from, and where in God's green earth you thought you were going?"

Scott looked at the detective with something close to sympathy, but there was no way to explain to him what he wanted to hear and, under his current condition, Scott couldn't think of a lie good enough to tell him either. _I was looking for the mutant training facility and headquarters of the super-hero team called the X-Men,_ he thought. His eyes left Detective Bates' and focused on the mirror facing him. _Yeah, that ought to land me straight inside an asylum in record time._

"Don't worry about them," Bates said, stepping in front of Scott, blocking his view of the mirror, and, Scott noticed, their view of him. "Tell me," he whispered. "I know about the coma. I know you were confused. I know everything seems a little crazy. I also know that you ain't a bad guy. The news is crawling with the story of a stranger saving a woman in a rest area from a rapist who just happens to also be a cop, and, from first glances, this wasn't his first victim. Our guys in three states have been looking all over for this serial rapist, and you bagged him for us. It's big news, and it's got a lot of people wanting you out of this precinct as soon as possible. It's bad publicity for a hero to be locked up in jail."

Scott listened with awe, but the frown never left his face.

"Are you hearing me, Summers?" Bates continued, his voice still low. "You've bought yourself a free ticket outta here, but you need me to stamp it, and I'm tellin' you, I wanna know where you were heading."

Scott squinted, a gesture that was no longer invisible to the world as it had been while he wore his visor and shades, and a look he gave when he was about to be stubborn. Jean had always hated it when he squinted. She told him it would give him "crow's feet." It had.

"I was chasing a dream," Scott said. _Though it wasn't mine,_ Scott thought. _Not originally._ Scott sighed. "Only the pot wasn't at the end of the rainbow."

Bates dropped his head, considering Scott's words carefully and chewing with his mouth as he milled over the thoughts.

"I don't remember the life they say I had," Scott whispered.

Bates shook his head slowly. "I see… Yeah, the hospital report said…" There was a long pause, during which Bates would alternatively nod his head, and shake it in disbelief. "Yeah," he said, and patted Scott on the shoulder.

"Well, Mr. Summers," the detective said, stepping away from Scott and speaking loudly again. "The owner of the golf course has dropped charges, as has the owner of the plane, contingent on the fact you agree to pay for damages incurred."

Scott nodded, suddenly feeling a ray of hope and the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

The detective opened the door and a very familiar figure was standing on the other side. "And your wife has posted bail." Bates turned to face Scott, but Scott's eyes were fixed only on the woman before him. "You're a free man," Bates said.

"Julia?" Scott said.

"For now," Bates added under his breath.


	18. Slow News Day

"Hello, Scott."

Scott didn't move. His face was expressionless. The anger on Julia's face was undeniable. In fact, her emotions seemed barely contained behind her mask of coldness. Bates, standing at the door, looked back and forth between the pair. It obviously wasn't the reunion he was expecting.

"Well, uh…" he started. "There are still things that need to be taken care of. There will be a hearing. You did break laws, after all. Under the circumstances, I would imagine the court might be lenient." He spoke as if his mind were elsewhere. Scott imagined he was trying to piece together what his life was going to be like as soon as Julia and he were behind closed doors. In all honesty, Scott was fairly uncertain about that himself.

He'd been convinced for some time now that Julia was the "bad guy." What would happen now? Was anything what it had seemed? Could he take the chance of trusting her?

Scott was snapped out of his ceaseless internal questioning when Bates cleared his throat. "Okay, Summers, I don't have all day, and you don't want to keep your public waiting."

Scott raised slowly from the seat. His eyes were fixed on Julia. She definitely fit in with Bates and Scott. Her hair was frizzed, as if she'd run her hands through it more than a few times. Her makeup was almost completely all gone, rubbed off by rushed meals and hours spent in the back of a car, Scott guessed.

The thought sparked a question. "How did you get here?" Scott asked evenly.

"I rode with Jeremy," Julia said. Her eyes squinted just barely as she spoke, telling Scott that more of a greeting might have been a better idea than jumping straight to business. _Old habits die hard,_ he thought. _Better get used to it._

"Boy, you two are just a barrel of laughs, ain't you?" Bates interjected as he unlocked the handcuffs on Scott's wrists. "We'll be in contact with you, as will the boys in Penn and Ohio, I'm sure." Bates' hand slapped on Scott's shoulder. "Good luck, Mr. Summers. I hope things work out for you. Here you go," he said, as he handed Scott a heavy manila envelope. "There's your belongings we took from you."

With that, Bates turned down the hall and Scott and Julia were left alone.

Scott looked into Julia's brown, blood shot eyes, and she looked right back into his. "You left..." her voice caught in her throat, and her chin jutted as she bit her lip and swallowed the emotions threatening to explode. "You left me."

Scott said nothing. He thought about trying to comfort her by touching her shoulder, but he had no right to touch her, and there was nothing he could say to take away what he had done.

"You lied to me, you stole our car, and you left me." Her sharp chin stuck out again as she smiled in disbelief and chewed on her tongue. Her eyes shimmered with tears. "And you have nothing to say…" She turned on her heel and started towards the door. "Typical."

Scott stood where he was, watching her leave. He looked around, hoping that someone else might volunteer to take him. Suddenly, jail wasn't looking so bad. Pursing his lips, he cleared his throat and leaned reluctantly into the first step towards the front door, where he knew there were lights, microphones, and questions he didn't want to answer. And after that? In a sense, the unknown. But he definitely foresaw a very long and uncomfortable road trip in his near future.

He shook his head as he pressed forward. _What is this?_ he asked himself. _This isn't my life. Do I have to go with this woman just because she claims that she's my wife and I can't seem to prove otherwise? Doesn't the fact that I don't remember her count for anything? What happened to the life I knew?_

Tired of answering the same questions and never having any answers, he decided to stop thinking about it. He was out of jail. As much as Julia might seem like the worse alternative, she really wasn't. From now on, he would take things one step at a time. He was bound to figure everything out. Eventually. Right?

Pushing open the right side of the double doors leading to the stairs, Scott was immediately bombarded with a half dozen microphones shoved into his face. His hand flew up, trying to block the bright lights that suddenly shone into his eyes. Julia was forced back into him as the crowd of cameramen, soundmen, and reporters pressed forward. A chorus of voices started shouting at him too quickly for him to even understand what they were saying.

Julia pressed off of Scott's chest with her elbow, harder than necessary in Scott's opinion, and started pushing her way through the crowd, yelling "Excuse me!" Seeing his opportunity, Scott caught the small ripple behind the fiery woman and began making his way through the reporters as well. An arm caught him around the chest and stopped his forward motion. A black-haired woman with incredibly pale skin doused in an inch of powder was holding him back.

"Mr. Summers, the people have been crying for your release. The least you can do is answer a couple of questions," she said speedily.

Scott raised his head. Julia had made it through to the other side and was watching traffic to cross the street. A car was parked there, and two men were sitting in the front seats.

Scott's brow furled, but the reporter demanded his attention. "Mr. Summers!" she cried. "Will you answer a few questions."

"Sure," Scott said reluctantly.

"How do you feel about being set free?" she said.

"It's great," he said, suddenly squinting as the lights were brought around and focused on his face.

"Some are saying that you saved a woman's life today. How does that make you feel?"

"I saw somebody in trouble, and I helped them. It's what I do."

"The young lady is praising you as a hero. What do you say to that?"

"She wasn't nearly as grateful at the time," Scott said. He raised his hand again, trying to see the car and get a better idea of what kind of men were inside.

"There have been a number of police reports tonight involving you and your name, Mr. Summers. What were you doing? Where were you heading?"

Scott lowered his eyes, looking directly into the bright blue eyes of the reporter. "Look," he said. "I know you're just doing your job, but this has been one hell of a day. Thank you for your help and your interest, but I just want to get out of here. Okay?"

With that, he began pressing forward again without regard for those who happened to be in front of him. Before long, he was free of the crowd. Relief flooded over him and he couldn't help feeling like he'd just been attacked by a swarm of Brood. Moving quickly, he started across the street. His pace slowed as he approached the car. The two men were smiling at him, and it was seriously unnerving. The window at the driver's seat descended.

"Climb in, Scotty!" the driver said good-naturedly.

Scott's frown deepened. "Jeremy?" he said.

"Who else? Now hurry up before the swarm descends again."

Scott side-stepped to the back door. His hand hovered over the handle, though. Looking inside, he could see Julia in the back seat, her arms crossed on her chest, and her face turned looking out the opposite window. _Is this really what I want to do?_ He asked himself. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. _What choice do I have?_

"Oh, boy," he muttered before finally opening the door and climbing in.

"…else would drive all this way to bail your ass outta jail?" Jeremy was saying as Scott stepped into the car and pulled his head into the cab. He shut the door and grabbed the seat belt strap by his left shoulder and pulled it across his chest. It snapped as it locked into place, and Scott looked out the window at the crowd of reporters wrapping up their "news" reports and cameramen disassembling equipment. They were all obviously in a hurry to get somewhere else. Maybe their next story, or maybe they had to get back to the station, or maybe dinner was waiting for them at home. They all knew where they were going. _And I don't have a clue,_ he thought to himself.

The thought made him turn from the window. The car was still parked. The man seated on the passenger side, a Latin-looking fellow with pitch black hair and a thick moustache, was starting at Scott with a huge grin on his face. The driver, too, was gazing into the rear-view mirror, which had been aimed at Scott. From the shape of his cheeks, Scott could tell Jeremy was smiling.

"What?" Scott said. He looked at Julia. She was still staring out the window.

"Nothing," the dark-haired man said with the hint of a Spanish accent in his voice. The grinning and staring, however, continued.

"What is it?" Scott said, trying his best not to sound annoyed.

"It's nothing," Jeremy said. "Really. It's just… We were wondering where the other half of you went?" The two men snorted and hissed into a childish laughter.

Scott wasn't catching on. "I don't understand," he said.

"Do you think we could get going?" Julia spoke up. "We've got a long trip."

The two men in the front of the car cleared their throats and reluctantly let the joke go. "Yeah, sure," Jeremy said. With a rev of the engine, he checked his blindspot and pulled onto the street. They had reached the stop sign at the end of the block before the two men looked at each other and burst into laughter yet again.


	19. The Road Home

It wasn't long before the two men in the front seat of the car decided it was a futile effort to make civilized conversation with the two in the back, and they seemed content to begin relating anecdotes to each other, each of which was accepted with uproarious laughter from the pair and a series of annoyed sighs from the woman fuming to Scott's right.

Scott was aware of the men's intentions. The car ride was looking to be every bit as awkward as he had assumed it would be, and Jeremy and his friend were doing everything they could to lift the elephant of repressed emotions off of everyone's back. Unfortunately, their attempts were just annoying in their execution.

Jeremy fired up the radio. The speakers in the back seat were quickly squelched at Julia's request. Thus, for the first few hours of the trip returning to western Ohio from eastern New York, Scott and Julia were cocooned in an orb of silence. For a time, Scott considered various ice-breakers, things he might say to Julia. The few things that came to mind seemed sure to only cause an argument, so Scott decided to respect her desire for silence. Everything he had to say could wait until they were alone.

His thoughts fell, then, to the disturbing thought he'd had earlier in the jail cell. He'd wished, for the first time in his life that he could ever remember, that people would stop treating him as if he were just like everyone else. _What kind of arrogant thought is that?_ he asked himself. _It goes contrary to everything that Charles Xavier ever taught me._ He tried to find the origin of the thought and could only come up with the fact that not once in his life had he ever been a "normal" person. From unwanted orphan, to awkward teenager, to mutant, to X-Man, there had been a time in his life when he'd been treated like everyone else, or fit in with the popular crowd, or even been forced to live by the same rules as the populace at large. The only real frame of reference he had was the short time he'd spent with Madelyne Pryor. Before he revealed he was a mutant, he had shared a real, normal relationship with her. Even that was tainted by his false emotions, based on her, as he now knew, manufactured likeness to his first, and true, love.

Images flashed before his eyes as he stared out the window at the dark landscapes and passing lights, images of Madelyne and Jean. As uncanny as the resemblance was, there were differences. Madelyne's hair had been shorter, her face slightly rounder. The memories filled him with a deep sense of sadness, as they always did when he reflected on that time of his life. So Julia's sudden outburst caught him completely by surprise and utterly emotionally unprepared.

"How could you!" she said. Tightly clenched fists landed on Scott's shoulder and, as he turned his face sharply in shock, one blow landed right across Scott's jaw. Scott's right arm quickly raised, blocking any further blows from landing on his face, and his left hand began rubbing his sore mouth.

"Hey, hey!" Jeremy cried from the first seat. "Thomas get her off of him!"

Thomas turned in his seat, appraising the situation. He tried to reach back, but only got a smack on the arm for his troubles. "He's on his own, brother," Thomas said, as he turned back into his seat. "Scotty can take care of himself."

And then, as quickly as the storm had started, it was over. With one last punch to Scott's arm, Julia's frustrations were apparently expelled, at least for the time being. She silently slid back to her side of the seat and resumed staring out of the window, now rubbing her reddened knuckles. Scott ventured a look and noticed the quivering of her lip and the dampness in her eyes. She noticed him looking.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing," Scott replied without emotion. As if nothing had happened, he, too, resumed staring out the window.

Even Thomas and Jeremy were quiet after that.

Scott drifted in and out of sleep throughout the trip through Pennsylvania. When the quartet crossed over into Ohio, he finally started recognizing landmarks on his original road trip. Thomas was driving now, and the atmosphere in the car was slightly more relaxed, mostly because everyone was too tired to be emotional.

From the slight conversation, Scott determined that Jeremy was supposed to have been his partner, and Thomas was another officer and apparently a close friend

After seemingly an eternity in the confines of Jeremy's car, they finally arrived at the pound where Julia's car had been brought after Scott abandoned it at the small airport. Apparently a friend of Jeremy's had been good enough to have the car transported to a pound in Ohio, closer to 'home.' _That must have been some favor,_ Scott thought, imagining the paperwork nightmare the procedure must have created. Transporting anything like that across state lines could be quite the headache. Still unwilling to believe everything at face value, Scott couldn't help smelling a trap. He looked at Julia as they dropped off onto a gravel road, but her face was an empty page. Her only distinguishing features were the dark circles under her eyes. She seemed to watch their progression with only a hint of interest, as if she didn't really care whether they ever reached their destination or not. She had pulled her hair back again into a ponytail and the vibrant happy woman who had come to pick him up from the hospital had been replaced by the emotionally wrecked, exhausted woman he'd been introduced to soon after waking.

Leaning forward on the smooth seat, Scott looked between the heads out the windshield and watched as they drove beneath a large sign that announced their arrival at the pound. Behind huge link fences were rows and rows of automobiles of every shape, size, and color. Scott felt his nerves ease. At least they were going where they said they were going.

Thomas parked the car. Julia said a quick "Thank you," to the two men in the front of the car, and got out of the car. Scott winced at the slamming of the door, and watched as she stepped towards the office, already digging through her purse.

There was a moment of silence in the car. He knew the men were waiting for him to get out, but Scott wasn't quite ready.

"Thank you for letting us do this for you, Scott," Jeremy said without turning around. "You've done so much for me, Thomas… all of us really. Finally, we get a chance to return the favor, and we don't even have to listen to you complain about it."

Scott looked at the side of Jeremy's face as he swallowed hard. "I know you're confused. I know there's a lot of things you don't remember. Julia told us…" He swallowed again. "We wanted to come to the hospital. We talked about it a lot. Julia said… We decided that we didn't want to give you any more stress. We figured you had enough on your plate learning to walk and all that…"

Scott cut the man off, trying to spare him any more discomfort. "Thank you, Jeremy. Thank you, Thomas. It was very kind of you to bring Julia to me in New York. I know it was a substantial inconvenience…"

"Substantial inconvenience?" Jeremy said as he turned, a slight smile on his face. "Only you, Scotty," he said, shaking his head, tears in his eyes. "We'd do anything for you, man. Anything."

Now it was Scott's turn to swallow hard. His eyes dropped. "I'll make it up to you," he said, continuing his thought. "Someday. Somehow. I'll pay you back." He had nothing else to say. He didn't know these men. He didn't understand their loyalty. He hadn't done anything to earn it. He reached for the door handle. "Thank you."

"See you soon, Scotty," Thomas said.

"Take care, partner," Jeremy followed as Scott stood and stretched his legs. "It'll come back. You'll be back on the streets in no time. You'll see!"

"Thanks," Scott said again, as he shut the door and followed the path Julia had taken. He stopped at the door and turned. Jeremy and Thomas were still sitting in the car, staring at him and smiling. Uncomfortable with the attention, Scott was unsure what to do. With jerky movements, he raised his hand in a sort of half-wave. The two men smiled and waved back.

Turning, he stepped through the doorway, glad to be free of the pair even if it meant facing Julia's wrath. Inside the brightly lit office, there were a handful of people of varying degrees of cleanliness all lined up in chairs along the wall facing a large counter with a couple of sour-faced employees flipping through paperwork. In front of one frowning woman was Julia, writing out a check. Neither woman seemed very happy to be talking with the other, and even if he had planned on going over earlier Scott certainly wasn't going to approach them now.

After a few moments and a few signatures, Julia was given a receipt and left the counter with a curt "Thank you."

"Let's go," she said as she approached Scott. She pulled the keys from her purse that had been in the envelope the officer had given him. "I guess I'm driving…"

Scott stood for a moment, tired of following like a whipped puppy and definitely tired of the attitude. He reminded himself, though, that he had possibly been responsible for an enormous financial burden on this woman and, as far as she knew, he'd thrown their marriage out the window. For the moment, he decided, he could understand and endure her unpleasant demeanor.

The pair waited in silence as the very familiar Camry was brought through the fence. Julia thanked the man as he got out of the car and was quick to sit down behind the steering wheel. Scott quick-stepped his way to the passenger side, careful to go _behind_ the car. He wasn't stupid, after all, and he knew better to offer such temptations to an angry woman.

He was reaching for the door handle when the engine revved and the wheels spun, throwing gravel. Scott jumped back, covering his face instinctively, and when he looked up, the Camry was fast barreling down the gravel road, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.


	20. A New Beginning

_**Author's Note: Chapter 20! Who would have thought? This is an emotional chapter. I hope I was able to pull it off. Please review! And, as always, thanks to my faithful readers. I love you guys!**_

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A surprised and disbelief-filled laughter escaped Scott's lips, but it was a brief joviality, indeed. He felt his stomach sink. There was something about watching Julia abandon him that tore deep into his heart, even though their relationship was limited, as far as he was concerned. This blow was only accentuated by the guilt that suddenly slammed into his gut. _This, _he told himself, _must have been how she felt upon arriving at the front door of the hospital to find her car and her husband missing._ Scott swallowed as he watched her driving wildly on the gravel road, headed for the main highway.

He looked around, hoping that Jeremy's car was still parked near the door. It wasn't. He was truly alone. He turned back to watch Julia leave. He had nothing else to do, and he felt he deserved the punishment of the rush of emotions the sight caused him.

Much to his surprise, the Camry pitched forward as the brakes slammed home. The cloud of dust that had been trailing Julia's escape passed over the car. Scott stood confused for a moment. When the car didn't move, the truth began to strike home… _She's waiting for me._

Scott's face flushed with embarrassment. _Ouch._

Slowly, Scott started towards the car, stillexpecting Julia to pull away any second. With each step, though, it became apparent that she was indeed waiting for him to reach the car. Scott shook his head. _She had every right to leave,_ he thought. _She could have left and never looked back, and nobody could have thought ill of her for doing it._ Scott's pace increased. He didn't want to push his luck too much. _Not even me._

When his footsteps reached the trunk of the car, he saw Julia rise from a crouched position over the steering wheel. She quickly wiped under each eye with shaking hands. Scott waited near the rear passenger door, allowing her a few more seconds to compose herself, and then pulled the door open. He knew he was still blushing, so it was somewhat comforting when Julia didn't even bother to turn her head as he dropped his worn-out frame onto the seat.

They sat in silence for a heartbeat. "Thank…" Scott started.

"Save it," Julia said, cutting him off. As she spoke, she gunned the accelerator and they leapt onto the concrete road.

Scott grabbed the seatbelt and hurriedly fastened it, but he respected her wishes and remained silent. Once again, they were riding together in silence. Scott could feel the emotions oozing from Julia, the unspoken tension, but he still couldn't find any words to say. Time passed, and Scott distracted himself by forcing himself to memorize the street names and the turns they took on their way.

Out of his peripheral vision, he watched Julia's fingers flex on the steering wheel--her knuckles shift from white to pink to red to white again--and he was reminded that he really had no idea where they were going. In actuality, it was still completely possible that Julia wasn't who she claimed to be. He had no idea what to expect when they reached their destination, even if she was his "wife" in this new life he found himself living.

It was a sobering thought, and it kept his mind occupied for the remainder of the trip. His eyes traced a large apartment building when the car turned and moved to park. Easily ten stories high, each apartment had a small balcony. Some were lined with plastic chairs, others with plants, and some with garbage. The building itself was made of red brick and was somewhat broken down but by no means dilapidated. More than anything,the apartment complex reminded him of assisted living facilities he'd seen.

The car came to a controlled halt in a space marked "Apt. #317" and Julia shut the car off and exited in silence. Still staring at the building, Scott climbed out as well. Consciously staying a few paces back, he followed Julia into the complex, to the stairs, and up the several flights to the third floor.

"The elevator's out," Julia explained, breathing a little heavy from the exertion. "It's always out."

Keys rattled as they followed a drab hallway with poor lighting to door 317. A nervousness settled in Scott's stomach and his pulse, still pumping hard from the walk up the stairs, re-doubled as adrenaline drained into his veins. Inside his pockets, his hands clenched to fists, and he did what he could to prepare himself for whatever was waiting on the other side of the door.

Julia jammed the door with her shoulder and it came open with a boom. She stepped inside and casually flipped on the light, illuminating a largely bare living room with worn but clean light-blue carpet. Julia was several feet into the room before Scott warily stuck his head through the doorway, quickly checking the corners for hidden dangers. Instead of spies, ninjas, or colorfully dressed mutants, the room was lined with toy boxes and dark-colored furniture—furniture that clearly hadn't been bought with this apartment in mind.

"I know," Julia said. "It's not quite the place we had across town." She dropped the keys onto a counter that separated the interior hallway from the kitchen. "We had to move here after you got sick and we couldn't make rent and the minimum payments on the credit cards."

Scott stepped inside, again bombarded with feelings of guilt. "It's nice," he said softly. He stood in the living room like an uncomfortable guest, feeling strangely like a boywaiting to pick up his date for the evening, knowing full well that he was hated by the girl's parents.

"Come on," Julia said with the impatience obvious in her voice. "I'll give you the 'grand' tour." He allowed her to lead him down the hallway. She pointed out the kitchen as he passed. Like the rest of the house, it wasn't anything fancy. The walls showed a little damage. There wasn't much room with all of the appliances, but there appeared to be an adequate amount of food stashed on the shelves and, much to Scott's approval, everything was neat and clean.

Julia opened a door and showed Scott the small bathroom which housed a small shower/bath and toilet. Another door was opened and Scott looked around Julia to see a hospital bed sitting alone amongst a few pieces of an oldbedroom suite.

"I sold our bed to buy it and I haven't had time toreplacethis one, yet."

Scott looked at Julia, who was staring at the bed. Her eyes began to shimmer, and she closed them tightly and shook her head. _So many sacrifices,_ he thought. He stepped back, subconsciously trying to escape the discomfort that washed over him. All those weeks in the hospital, all the planning he'd done to get away, and all of the people he'd either hurt or inconvenienced greatly, and now he could see that it truly was for nothing.

However he'd wound up here, whatever the truth of his situation was, Julia was not his enemy.

Julia shut the door softly behind her. Her head was bowed when she turned and faced Scott, who was now several feet away. She raised her head and her expression changed sharply when her eyes fell on Scott's face.

"What?" she said angrily. "This place isn't good enough for you? The bed isn't up to your standards?"

Scott could only assume she'd responded to an expression he hadn't been aware he was making. "No," he said, raising his hands to calm her. "It's not like that at all."

"Then what _is_ it like, Scott? Why don't you tell me? I'd like to hear what you have to say. I think it's about time that you started talking. I think I've waited long enough for an explanation."

Scott paused, to make sure she was truly done.

"Well?" she said.

"I know you've been through a lot," Scott said, speaking calmly.

"You have no idea what I've been through!" Julia cried. "I lived two years of my life scared out of my mind. Scared that you'd never wake up again. Scared that were going to _die_, and that I'd be left here alone. That… that Rachel would grow up never knowing her father! I fed you, I cleaned you! I worked, took care of _our_ daughter."

Julia began walking towards Scott. He stood his ground.

"I sold ev-" Julia's voice caught in her throat and tears started streaming down her face. When she spoke again, her voice was low and quivering with emotion. "I sold everything we had built, our whole lives together, just to make ends meet. And then you wake up and you have the… the audacity. The _balls…" _she shrieked, slamming her balled fists onto Scott's chest, "…to leave me at the hospital. To throw this family even further in debt!"

"What are we going to do now, Scott? How are we going to pay for that airplane? Or that damn golf course? You're so smart all of a sudden, why don't you answer that?"

Scott blinked. It was clear she wasn't interested in hearing what he had to say. She was venting--venting for two years worth of frustration and fear and an act of betrayal almost too awful to comprehend. If she wanted to hit him, he would let her. Unfortunately, it seemed she wanted answers at the moment.

Answers, he didn't have.

"I'll pay for it," he said. "Somehow, I'll make it all right."

"You're damn right you will!" Julia shouted. She marched back to the bedroom containing the hospital bed. "And you're sleeping on the couch until you do!"

Scott flinched as the door slammed shut, but sighed audibly, glad to be free of the emotional barrage. _Everything will be better in the morning,_ he told himself, _once tempers have had a chance to cool, everything will be different._ The frown on his face wasn't as easily convinced.

He turned slowly in the hall and made his way back to the living room. He fell onto the couch with a grunt and began loosening the strings on his shoes. He kicked them off and exhaled loudly with contentment as cool, fresh air struck his feet. Hetugged off the socks, which were damp and stuck to his feet. Despite everything, it felt wonderful to be resting and removing his shoes and socks felt like removing cement blocks he'd been dragging along.

He told himself he should get up and try to find a toothbrush and that he could really use a drink of water and to use the bathroom. Instead, his head fell towards the pillow nestled in the arm of the couch. With the light still on, Scott was snoring in minutes.

He awoke with a start when something fell on his face. It was hair—long and soft. Confusion struck him, unsure of his surroundings, as his eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. "Emma?" he said excitedly. "Is that you?"


	21. Home

"WHERE ARE YOU, SCOTT?"

Scott sat up suddenly, gasping for air, drenched in sweat, and confused at his surroundings. His eyes were closed tight out of sheer habit. In only a manner of seconds, his fumbling hands recognized the rough texture and uneven support of an old couch beneath him and he remembered where he was. With effort, he opened his eyes. Illuminated by faint moonlight was the living room Julia had introduced to him as his own a short while ago.

Scott wiped the sweat from his brow with his wrist and let out a long sigh. _The dream again,_ he thought. Emma's voice had been louder in his dream this time, so loud it seemed to still echo in his ears. He swallowed hard and decided he could use a drink of water to help cool him down. A stab of pain in his side reminded him he hadn't escaped his adventures unscathed and he hissed as he turned on the couch, clutching his bandages to his side. He rubbed his eyes and yawned as he dropped his feet onto the floor. He stood up and lifted his foot to step but froze when he saw something in his peripheral vision, something lying across the floor.

He'd nearly stepped onto Julia's arm, bent under her head. Placing his foot back carefully on the floor, Scott examined the strange woman breathing heavily as she slept. Her legs were pulled into a ball in front of her. She looked cold, but Scott decided not to wake her. She had chosen to lie on the ground without a pillow and blanket, and she was sleeping heavily enough. Disturbing her seemed pointless.

Slowly, Scott worked his way around Julia, careful to step as soundlessly as he could. He then made his way to the kitchen and squinted through the moonlight as he searched the cupboards for a glass. Finally, he found the right cabinet and filled the glass with tap water. He downed the contents with a couple gulps and refilled it. He sipped more gingerly as he stepped out into the hallway. The cold water had chased all of the clouds from his mind. Sleep would not come easily a second time. He decided to search the home that was to be his own to limit the chances of waking Julia and to pass the time.

The hallway got darker as it stretched away from the living room, so Scott had to squint and grasp blindly to find the doorknobs that he knew were there somewhere. Finally, his fingertips rapped a metal handle. He turned it and entered. Closing the door behind him, he flipped on the light. After his eyes had adjusted to the light and he could stop squinting, he examined the room and immediately started grinning. He was obviously in young Rachel's room. The walls were painted pink and lined with Disney Princess borders. Everywhere his eyes landed, there were stuffed bears and pink hearts. It was adorable.

The bed was empty. Twin-sized and draped in a pink comforter, he could just imagine a young girl cuddled beneath the covers and smiling. For the first time since he'd been introduced to the child who was to be his, he wondered what little Rachel would look like. The picture he'd seen briefly had been two years old, or older. For reasons he hadn't really worried about before, Julia had been wary of bringing Rachel around him. When Scott had made conversation, he would ask when he would see her. Invariably, Julia was full of excuses. It made sense, he supposed. Julia knew he had no recollection of Rachel, or her for that matter. At the time, Scott had assumed the child actor had been hired as a one-time deal and couldn't be reached. Now, the possibility that Julia had been trying to spare Rachel the pain of being exposed to a father she barely knew and didn't know her at all seemed much more likely.

He moved over to the dresser sitting opposite Rachel's bed after his eye caught the reflection of glass in a small picture frame. He recognized the picture as the same that had been in his wallet. Rachel was practically an infant, probably two years old, and she was sitting on her mother's lap. The baby's hair was much lighter than her mother's, and she was dressed in a white dress positively draping in frills. Julia was looking down at her daughter and smiling proudly. Scott's grin widened. He well knew the pride only a parent could feel. Both of the children he'd birthed (in one manner or another) were fine individuals, displaying strength of character and spirit so powerful that circumstances worse than he could imagine weren't enough to break them. He was fairly sure they were unaware of his feelings, but Scott couldn't have been more proud of them.

Metal slid against metal as the doorknob turned behind Scott, snapping him out of his warm feelings and reminding him that he was far, far away from the life that he remembered. He quickly returned the photo to its position on the dresser and turned to see Julia squinting at him. She was wearing cotton pajamas with a vertical pink stripe. Her hair was flat and dark, and her face was creased with "sleep lines."

"I'm sorry," Scott said, feeling suddenly like he'd been caught snooping where he wasn't allowed. "I was just looking."

Julia didn't respond. She simply stood in the doorway, a sad and tired frown on her face.

Scott stared back, his brow furled and a confused frown of his own. "I hope I didn't wake…" he began.

"I didn't want her to know," Julia interrupted.

"What?" Scott said, surprised and somewhat lost.

"I didn't want Rachel to know." Julia's weight shifted and her shoulder came to rest on the doorway. She brought her hand to her face and rubbed her forehead and then her eyes. Her face scrunched into something like a grimace. When she dropped her hand, though, her face was again solemn. She took a deep breath. "I didn't want Rachel to know that you didn't remember her. I sent her to live with her grandparents so the two of us could figure out what our life was going to be like. If you still--" She covered her mouth, swallowed, cleared her throat, and then continued. "If you still wanted to live with us. If your memory was going to come back…"

Scott's frown deepened, but he remained frozen. He felt himself becoming emotionally detached, pulling away from the situation. Something in his mind whispered that this wasn't his problem, that she wasn't talking about him. She was talking about someone else or nobody at all, that none of this was real, and that he didn't have any need to feel guilty.

At his sides, his fingers became fists. _Stop it,_ he told himself. _Maybe you weren't involved before, but you are now. You were involved the moment she bailed you out of jail and you climbed in the car with her._

"It's been hard…" Julia continued, wiping her nose. "Really hard, these last few weeks. And I just couldn't put Rachel through it. Not yet. I had to know which way it was going to go with us, first." Julia cleared her throat again. She shifted her feet, pushed off of the door jamb, and stood tall—regaining her composure. "I hope you're not mad," she said, "but, given the circumstances, I'm extremely glad she's not here."

"It's fine," Scott said. "I understand."

There was an odd silence between them. "Good," Julia said. She turned as if she was going to leave, and then turned back. "I'm glad you're back," she said. With that, she stepped out of the room.

Scott hurriedly followed. "Julia!" he said.

She stopped, but she didn't turn to face him. Even from behind, Scott could see that her right arm was clutched tightly around her waste and her left hand was hovering over her mouth. "What?" she barked, trying to hide her emotions.

"I'm going to fix this," he said.

"Scott, I'm not in the mood…"

"I mean it! I'll make everything right, pay back all that I owe you. You certainly deserve that much."

There was a pause. Julia took a deep breath, and her shoulders drooped a little more.

"Goodnight, Scott."

Scott stepped forward, into the hallway, in time to see Julia duck back into her room. The door shut softly behind her.

He turned, taking one last look at the brightly painted room of Julia's daughter. With furled brow and a deep frown, he sent the room into darkness and closed the door behind him. He stumbled towards the couch and lay down, crossing his arms behind his head.

He really wasn't sure what his obligations to this woman involved. He didn't know how long he would stay—how long she would _want_ him to stay. But he'd given his word, and he wouldn't stop until he'd kept them. As an X-Man, his job was to improve lives. This time, he was going to help improve them on a very specific level, pay back the debts he owed.

_Now,_ he thought, _I just have to figure out how the hell I'm going to do it._


	22. Reparations

**_Author's Note: I apologize for the short chapters. This chapter was originally intended to be the second half of the previous chapter, but I took so long writing it I figured I would upload SOMETHING. I hope you enjoy it._**

"Make sure you get it nice and tight."

Despite the cool chill in the air, Scott wiped the sweat that threatened to drip into his eyes with his flannel shirt sleeve and gave the spark plug he was a final tug with the wrench in his hand.

"Not too tight, now," the older gentleman standing behind him said. He'd been standing there, watching Scott work, for a good hour now and it was taking all of Scott's patience to keep from politely asking him to keep his 'advice' to himself. Despite the man's incessant need to speak, it was nice to have some company and have a somewhat normal conversation. Scott grunted as he straightened his back, pulling himself out from under the hood of the old beat-up Ford.

He turned and sent as nice a smile he could muster to his "audience." Besides the older gentleman, he'd amassed a small crowd of observers. He supposed it was true what they said. There's nothing more fascinating than an opened hood. Small boys chased each other with a mutt puppy barking and racing after them as fast as his massive paws would allow. The parking lot of the apartment complex was buzzing with activity. The sun was up and the sapphire sky was filled with puffy cotton clouds. It was a beautiful autumn day. Still, Scott couldn't help but think that he was the reason so many of the patrons found themselves outside. It had always been his observation that it always took somebody going outside and working to get everyone else motivated. He'd wondered what the cause was—guilt, jealousy, boredom? He didn't have an answer for that question. He just knew it seemed that way.

Scott wiped his hands on a faded rag now covered with fresh oil stains as he made his way to the Ford's driver seat. The older gentleman followed, his hands in his jean pockets, his shirt tucked into his pants, and an unlighted cigarette hanging from his lips. Careful to keep his rear on the trash bag he'd lain across the seat, Scott sat behind the steering wheel and turned the ignition. The engine spat and sputtered. He pumped the gas pedal. "C'mon…" he whispered to himself.

With a loud roar, the engine sprang to life. Scott struck the wheel with his palm. "Yeah!" he exclaimed.

Leaving the door open, he climbed out of the car and made his way around the old man and looked into the engine, watching the belts, wheels, and fans turn with a smile on his face. The loud knocking was gone and the new fan belt seemed to be aligned properly, nice and tight.

A sharp slap to his back sent Scott forward a few inches forward. He turned, shocked and perturbed, to see the old man smiling at him good naturedly.

"Good work, Scotty!" he said. "I ain't never seen anything like it. How many does that make?"

Scott forced a half smile. "I lost count," he said softly. "Excuse me," he said as he again stepped around the man and sat back inside the driver's seat. He turned off the car and pulled the keys from the ignition. He had to admit. It felt good to be working. Energy surged through his veins, pent up by too many weeks in a hospital bed. More than everything else, he had a mission to complete and, true to form, he was bound and determined to see it through to completion.

In the new silence, he heard a familiar voice in the air. A sudden surge of panic hit him like a wall of bricks. He checked his wrist, but there was no watch there. "Oh, God," he said aloud.

He jumped out of the car, listening for Julia's voice, trying to determine what direction her voice was coming from in the maze of cars. "Oh, jeez…" What had she thought, when she woke up and found him gone? The color drained from his face. _How could you have lost track of time so badly?_ he scolded himself.

With a half-run, he took off in the direction he assumed to be correct. Rounding an old "Astro van" he'd changed the oil in, he saw her standing there, carrying two large bags on her shoulder and back and the handle of a piece of luggage in her hand. She was smiling, but Scott could see the sadness in her eyes, even at this distance. It was a look he was getting used to seeing.

The woman Julia was talking to had a confused look on her face.

"Would you mind picking up the mail for me?" Scott heard Julia ask. "I'm going to be staying at my parents' for a few days."

"Is Scott leaving, too?" the other lady said, motioning to the general direction of the car he'd been working on. Scott saw Julia swallow and shake her head, but by this time his footsteps could be heard slapping the concrete. Both of the women looked at him, shocked to hear someone run up on them.

"I'm so sorry," Scott said breathlessly. "I didn't want to wake you…"

There was a flurry of motion and Scott's reflexes kicked in. His fist wrapped around Julia's wrist, stopping the impending slap just inches from his face. He immediately regretted the action, and he released her. She drew her arm back sharply, clearly fuming. Scott was beginning to notice a definite violent streak in this woman, but he honestly couldn't blame her. He'd certainly punched men for less things than what he'd done to her. Once or twice.

"What are you doing? What..? Why…?" She stumbled over the angry questions, unable to find words for the frustration he imagined she was feeling.

"I was working," Scott explained hurriedly. "I woke up early this morning, and I didn't want to wake you. I found these old clothes, some tools in the closet, and started going door to door, asking anyone if they needed any repair work done." Scott's face soured with the memory. There were definitely some rude people living in this complex. He shook his head and continued. "Eventually, I found an older lady who said she needed her oil changed in her car. While I was working, I guess she told some of her friends, and they got me to change _their_ oil, and then one of those ladies remembered her son's car was squealing when he hit the brakes…"

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wide wad of money, stained here and there with black fingerprints. "I've made three-hundred and fifty already, and a couple of people still owe me." He handed the unruly pile to Julia, who accepted it with jaw dropped in surprise.

"That should cover the towing and maybe a couple other bills," he said. He put one hand in his pocket and ran the other through his hair, remembering only after he'd started how dirty his hands were. He pulled his hand down sharply to his side and looked deep into Julia's eyes, wincing slightly, half expecting the bills to be thrown back into his face.

Instead, Julia lunged at him. For an instant, Scott thought she was going for his throat and even stepped backwards, steadying himself. Her arms did land on his throat, but only to squeeze it tightly in a hug. As her weight rested on his shoulders, Scott leaned forward. A burst of laughter escaped his smiling lips. It was the first time he had really noticed how much shorter she was than him and, as his hand rested on her back, how thin she was. His smile lost its intensity as he tried to inconspicuously ascertain her body mass index. It didn't take an expert to know that she was unhealthy.

The wetness on Scott's shoulder brought him out of his worries.

"Thank you," Julia whispered.

He returned the hug she offered, holding her tightly. "You're welcome," he said.


	23. Clean Up

The satisfying hum of an air conditioner sounded in Scott's ears just before the accompanying blast of cool air hit his face as he opened the door to Julia's apartment, still in his flannel shirt and oversized jeans. There was a quick shuffling of feet, and Scott, who had bent to untie his shoes, saw Julia dart into the kitchen, pulling the bouncing coiled telephone wire behind her.

"Just a second!" she cried. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll bring you something to drink."

Those words sounded pretty good to him, so he bent over and tugged his shoes free, flexing his toes and enjoying the cooling sensation that flooded through his body as fresh air struck his sweaty socks. Though it was late in the year, the day had turned unseasonably warm. He was able to get more done because of it, but it had made for some uncomfortable time spent beneath the hoods and carriages of the automobiles he'd been repairing.

Scott walked across the carpet to the old couch and was just about to sit when he realized how filthy his rear end and back probably were. He stood, unsure of what to do, so he wound up thrusting his hands into his pockets and waiting silently.

Finally, Julia stepped around the column that separated the kitchen from the living room. "Okay," she said into the phone, her voice raised audibly from the level she'd been speaking at before. For the first time, Scott grew suspicious as to her conversation. "Alright, we'll be there shortly. Mmm, hmm. See you soon. Bye bye."

She was wearing an old navy-blue sweatshirt with "Academy" written across the front. Apparently, the air conditioning hadn't been for her benefit. Her hair had been washed and she was wearing eye makeup. Something, he knew, was in the works.

She replaced the receiver onto the phone hanging on the wall and smiled a positively dazzling and excited smile. "Hold on!" she cried. She rounded the corner and Scott shuffled his feet nervously. When she appeared again, she was carrying a large glass. When she handed it to him, he held it up, regarding its contents. The liquid inside was almost clear but had a whitish yellow tint. A couple of seeds near the bottom verified that the contents was indeed lemonade. The amusing thing, Scott noted, was that there was far more ice in the glass than lemonade.

"It's lemonade," Julia declared proudly.

"Thank you," Scott said, smiling.

He tipped the glass back and the sheer coldness of the drink stung his teeth. When the lemonade poured over his tongue and down his throat, it was all Scott could do to keep from coughing it up. His eyes closed tight and his lips puckered.

"It needs sugar, doesn't it?" Julia inquired, sounding disappointed.

"Whoo," Scott said, shaking his head. He opened his eyes to see Julia's large brown eyes looking at him imploringly. It was obvious she was trying extremely hard to please him and to cater to him. "It's great," he said. "It's just been a while since I had it homemade."

He tipped the glass back and downed the contents with a couple of gulps. With his tongue already shriveled, the rest of the glass honestly didn't seem too bad. In fact, it was satisfyingly refreshing. Julia happily took the glass from his hand and turned back for the kitchen.

"I'll get you a refill," she said. "Then you can get cleaned up."

"Cleaned up?" he asked. "Where am I going?"

"We need to go pick up Rachel."

"But I thought you…" The words came out of Scott's lips before he could stop them. By the time he'd reined his tongue, Julia was already rounding the bend again with his second glass.

"I changed my mind," she said, answering his unfinished question. There was a tone in her voice that made it clear she didn't want to be interrogated about it, so Scott decided to just keep a good thing going.

He took a few drinks from his glass, and licked his lips. "What do I do with the, uh, dirty clothes?"

"Just throw them in the hamper. I'll get them later."

Scott nodded. He tossed back the remainder of his lemonade and let out a sigh, suddenly wishing he had more. "Thank you," he said.

"You are very welcome," Julia said, smiling. "Now hurry up. We have a long drive ahead of us." Her voice trailed off as she disappeared once again around the corner.

"Wonderful," Scott said to himself as he bent to pull off his socks and headed down the hall towards the bathroom. He had barely turned on the water and jumped behind the curtain when the door opened. "I'm setting some clothes for you near the door," Julia's voice carried over the sounds of running water, and then the door shut again before Scott even had time to complain. A look of concern shadowed Scott's face. The sentiment wasn't lost on him, but he wasn't exactly the type of person who enjoyed being waited on hand and foot. Julia's sudden turn in behavior was quite unsettling.

He hurriedly bathed and dried himself. The only razor he found had obviously been used, presumably by him. He held it up, examining it closely, and finally decided to wait until he could get a new one. _A little stubble never killed anybody,_ he told himself.

His clothes were neatly folded and stacked right by the door, just as Julia had said. He dressed. Khaki pants and a light blue, button-up shirt, and… a tie? Scott frowned, holding the strip of fabric before him. Things were definitely heading in a direction he wasn't looking forward to. Sighing, he flipped up his collar and began knotting the tie. Skilled fingers made short work, and he examined himself in the mirror to mixed feelings. It felt good to be dressed up. It gave him a sense of dignity. The shirt was obviously too big for him, and seemed to hang like curtains at his side. He tried tucking the excess into his pants but that didn't help much. The pants, too, were held up only by the belt pulled tight around his waist. He shrugged and gave his hair a final run-through with his fingers, and then he opened the door and stepped out into the hall where cold air struck his still damp skin and hair.

Julia darted out of her bedroom carrying some black shoes, polished to shine. "Here you go," she said. "Your old dress shoes. I hope they still fit…" She hurried past him into the bathroom and Scott noticed that she'd changed from the sweatshirt into a button-up shirt of her own, striped vertically with all different colors.

"Hey," Scott said. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" she replied, her face in the mirror as she touched up her lipstick. As he watched, she grabbed the towel and wiped away some of the condensation.

"You don't have to do this," he explained. "Fix me drinks, pick up my clothes. All that stuff. I don't mind taking care of myself. I'm used to it. I'm good at it."

Julia shot him a quick glance, looking simultaneously puzzled and amused. She chuckled and then went back to work on her makeup. "You were working all morning, and I appreciate it." She stepped away from the mirror and approached Scott. He stiffened as her hands touched his arms. She dropped her hands.

"Sorry," she said. Scott, embarrassed, looked away. "Look," Julia continued. "You surprised me this morning. I woke up, and I was sure you were gone for good, and I was going to let you go. And then, when I went downstairs and you were working. For us. Well…"

Scott raised his eyes and looked into Julia's. They were glistening, and she was smiling.

"It gave me hope," she said. She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes delicately, trying her best not to smear her eyeliner. She gave a quick laugh. "I decided today's a brand new day. We can start over."

She stepped away, walking briskly down the hall, and she grabbed her huge purse from the kitchen counter. "Hurry up," she said. "Or we're going to be late."

"Late?" Scott said as he dropped the shoes to floor and started wiggling his toes into them. "Late for what?"


	24. Surprise

"You didn't shave," Julia said.

Scott turned his eyes from the window to see her turning her attention back to the road. She had attempted several times to start idle chatter. Scott had never been skilled at banter, but he too welcomed any break in the uncomfortable silence. Being back in the car had definitely reawakened the previous day's activities for him and, judging by the way Julia kept shifting in her seat, he imagined she was similarly affected.

"I need a new razor," he replied after a slight pause.

Julia turned and looked at him again. "I have some disposable ones. You can have one of those."

"Thank you," he said. "That sounds great."

There was another moment of silence. The hum of the road filled the car, accented by the occasional seam or crack in the highway.

"I'm sorry I didn't shave," Scott spoke up. "I didn't think it would matter."

"It doesn't," Julia replied. "I was just surprised. You always shaved." He saw in his peripheral vision that her eyes darted his way again. "You look kind of cute with a little stubble."

It was Scott's turn to shift in his seat. He fought the urge to turn his face away from hers and stare out the window. Instead, he forced himself to stare forwards, watching the dotted lines on the road zoom past. The temperature in the cabin of the car seemed to rise sharply. He knew he was blushing, and it wasn't exactly a common occurrence for him. Her comments served only to remind him that this woman imagined a long and apparently intimate history with a man who looked just like him. A history that he had absolutely no knowledge of. He was dealing with strong emotions, and he didn't know what to do about it. Obviously, they were feelings that he couldn't reciprocate. Suddenly, he wished he hadn't given her the money so soon. Anger, resentment, and arguments, he could handle. Affection? Especially coming from a stranger? Just the thought made Scott squirm again.

"I'm sorry," Julia said. He shot her a sideways glance. Her cheeks were reddened with embarrassment, too.

"No," Scott said. "Don't be. It's fine." He tried to sound comforting, but even he could tell he sounded like someone trying to be polite after somebody just vomited on their shoes. "I appreciate the, uhh, I mean, thanks for thinking I'm..." Scott chastised himself. Turning and looking at her squarely, he spoke clearly and definitively. "Thank you."

Julia tried to stifle a grin. Scott looked away.

"So," Scott said, quickly searching his mind for a subject change. "You said Rachel was at her grandparents." His brow furled as his mind struggled to wrap itself around the next part of his question. "Did you mean your parents or mine?"

_**His** parents?_ They wouldn't really be his, but they would think they were. What would that be like? _Can I deal with this? Of course you can._ Scott took a deep breath, trying his best not to get himself worked up over nothing._ What will she look like?_

"My parents," Julia answered.

And just like that, his worries were for nothing. "I see."

There must have been something in his voice, or maybe it was the question itself, but Scott saw in his peripheral vision that Julia was looking at him, a concerned look on her face.

"Scott," she said, her voice solemn. "You're, uhh, your parents are dead."

He looked at her and she looked at him. Sadness welled in her eyes and rolled over Scott in waves, but he felt nothing but coldness inside.

"You're an orphan," she said.

Scott nodded and looked through the windshield. "Yeah," he said. "Okay."

The rest of the trip was spent in silence. Julia hadn't misspoken. The trip was a long one, made longer by the revelations he was still coming to terms with. It was becoming more and more apparent that, though he needed to stay and continue with his reparations, that he would one day be forced to divorce himself from Julia and this situation. Somehow, he had to find a way back to the life he knew. This was all just too… It was all too much.

"Here we are," Julia said as they pulled off of the paved road. The car lurched and then shook as gravel crackled beneath the tires. Scott leaned forward to see a large white house sitting atop the hill at the end of the long, curved driveway. His forehead creased with thought. The house was by no means a mansion, but it clearly represented a higher standard of living than the apartment complex Julia was currently living in.

_What kind of a family is this?_ Scott thought to himself.

The car lazily climbed the hill, stopping at the two-car garage doors next to an aging mini-van. The pair climbed out, and Scott's attention was further piqued as he followed Julia up the ramp to the front door. Motion caught his eye, and he turned to see a curtain fall back into place. Elements were beginning to fall into place. He turned back to Julia with eyebrow raised.

"What's going on here?" he said.

"What?" she said, acting shocked. "What do you mean?" She leaned forward and rang the doorbell twice.

Scott looked away, trying to hide his irritation. _I hate _surprises, he thought. The porch was covered and was decorated simply but expensively. Still, everything was dusty and spider webs glinted in the sunlight underneath the chairs.

The front door opened abruptly, and Scott snapped to attention. The woman standing inside the house looked remarkably like the pictures of Julia he had seen when she was larger. Her mother was larger still. Her cheeks were round and her face lined with smile lines and those caused by frowning, too. Her hair was a light brown, clearly a dye job. She wore plenty of makeup, but not enough to cover the fact that her face was terribly pale. Despite the enormous smile on her face, it was immediately clear that this was not a woman that felt well.

"Scott Summers," Julia's mother said. "It's a miracle and a blessing to see you up and walking again."

"Thank you, Mrs…" Scott said for the first time that he had no clue what Julia's maiden name was.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Mary?" she said, grabbing Scott and pulling him into a bear hug, which Scott reluctantly relented to. "I never stopped praying for you, child," she said into his ear.

She released him and Scott stepped back, smiling uncomfortably. Mary smiled and shook her head. "Ain't it a miracle." She waved them in with thick arms. "C'mon in! We'll get little Rachel packed up."

Scott stepped in apprehensively, still shaken from his greeting. He rubbed his bicep unconsciously, ran his fingers through his hair, and scratched his chin.

"Make yourself comfortable, Scotty," Mary said. "Me and Julie will go get Rachel."

"Just have a seat on the couch," Julia said, and she pointed over Scott's shoulder.

He nodded. He didn't even try to hide the snarl that was twitching at the edge of his mouth. He toyed with the idea of telling them to forget the surprise, spare themselves the trouble. Watching Julia practically skip down the hall, though, Scott couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he sighed heavily and turned into the living room. The entire room was decorated in light colors, with two white couches as the focal point both of which were literally teeming with pillows.

He circled one of them, looking at the massive pile and wondering how Mary, who was clearly larger than himself, ever managed to sit on the couch comfortably. There was barely any cushion showing at all. He buried his hands into his pockets and watched the hallway, waiting for the procession to erupt. He waited and waited, shifting his weight back and forth. He walked slowly around the room, examining pictures of unfamiliar faces. Julia and Rachel appeared in a few of them at various ages. He moved back to the couch. His mouth opened to ask if everything was okay, but he shut it again. He was a guest. He could be patient.

His eyes examined the couch again. Finally, he turned and dropped his rear onto the spot it looked like he might have the most chance of fitting in and he was nearly launched onto the floor. Digging his feet into the carpet, he pushed himself backwards, but he was still laying practically flat on the mountain of pillows, his pelvis lifted uncomfortably skyward.

The more he struggled, the more he seemed to get buried in lace and stuffing. Finally, he stood up and, digging his arm deep into the pillows, he started shoveling out a place to sit, tossing white pillows onto the floor behind him. He froze, mid-scoop, when a number of voices shouted suddenly from the hallway.

"SURPRISE!"

---------------

**_Author's Note: I really wanted to have more in this chapter, but I've been so incredibly busy lately I haven't had time to write, so I posted what I had. I wanted to let everyone know that I'm still around and still working. I haven't given up on our hero yet!_**


	25. Family

A quick rainbow of emotions struck Scott: a spasm of embarrassment, quickly buried beneath agitation. With a deep breath, though, Scott forced a polite smile to his face before he turned slowly to face the crowd who'd gathered to surprise him. There were a few chuckles. More than a few sets of eyes were on the pile of pillows on the floor rather than him. Julia stepped forward, carrying a large cake. "Welcome home!" was written in blue on the white frosting. They'd even gone through the trouble of bordering the whole thing with striped candles.

Scott stifled the groan in his throat. His mind was immediately taken back to numerous birthdays at the mansion. Every year he would tell everyone he didn't want a party. Every year, they would throw one. It didn't take him too many years to figure out that they all gathered for the party just to see him uncomfortable.

"Did we surprise you?" Julia said, smiling brightly. Her eyes were eager and it was clear to see she was overflowing with excitement. Again, Scott's mind drifted into the past, remembering Jean standing back from the crowd, a grin on her face that was loving, proud, and mischievous all at the same time. She'd enjoyed Scott's discomfort as much as the rest of them, but he could still feel the warmth that would flow through their rapport as she leaned against the doorway, her arms crossed, and watched Scott open the varied gifts he'd received.

For an instant, Scott's eyes blurred, moistened with tears for the dear memory. When he looked at Julia, though, the emotion disappeared. He brought his fist to his lips, cleared his throat, and smiled again.

"I had my suspicions," he said. He nodded to her, and then to the group of strangers. "Thank you," he said.

Mary, Julia's mother, stepped forward, batting away his words as if they were a buzzing mosquito. "Oh, psshh. Don't you mention it," she said. Scott soon found himself the recipient of another hug. Mary patted his back and then rubbed his arms as she stood back from. "A miracle," she said, shaking her head.

The rest of the family approached. A kindly-looking woman with tired eyes moved around Mary and hugged Scott, too. "Lydia," she said. "Julia told us you might not remember us. I'm Julia's sister-in-law." He remembered hearing the name long ago, and he shook his head to acknowledge it. His eyes were drawn to Lydia's hair. Red. It always caught his attention. The color was wrong. It was too dark. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if the glimpse he'd caught of Lydia's hair had been responsible for his nostalgic thoughts.

"Lydia," he said. "Nice to…" He stopped himself, but it was too late. Lydia's lips pursed, and she nodded quickly. Her eyes dropped.

"I'm sorry," Scott said.

Lydia raised her chin. There were tears in her eyes, but she smiled an endearing, comforting smile. "It's great to have you back with us, Scott," she said before stepping out of the way.

A man took her place in front of him. He was as tall as Scott, if not a hair taller, but he was built much wider. It might have been his dark, curly hair, but Scott got the impression that this man's head was too large for his body. A large beer belly hung over his belt. "John," he said. He extended his hand, but Scott saw only boredom and, perhaps, suspicion in the man's eyes.

"Julia's brother," Scott said. He took the man's hand. John squeezed tightly. Though it taxed his tired muscles, Scott matched his grip. And just like that, he knew he didn't like this man.

Next came a familiar face. "Jeremy?" Scott said, puzzled that he could have missed him before.

His supposed partner smiled. "Hey!" he said, in his characteristically loud voice. "At least he remembers me! How you doin', buddy?" He leaned in close to Scott's ear. "Glad to see you survived that first night back," he whispered. "Tom and I had our doubts, know what I mean?"

He leaned back, and slapped Scott on the arm. "You're lookin' good, man! Tom couldn't make it. He said to say 'hi.'"

Before Scott could speak, Jeremy had moved on. The man seemed to have the attention span of a five year old. "You gonna hold that cake all night Jules, or are we gonna eat up?"

With that, the celebration no longer seemed to center around Scott. He couldn't have been happier. He sat down in the pocket he'd created on the couch and watched with mild interest as the rest pushed past each other in a constant churning. Soon, they all had a paper plate with slices of various sizes of vanilla cake weighing them down, and the room fell into a relative quiet.

The soft sounds of chewing and scraping were disturbed by a strange startlingly familiar electric hum. Scott turned his head sharply towards the hall to see a wheelchair carrying an overweight bald man wearing large, dark sunglasses into the sitting room.

"I guess that shithead must already be here," he said. "What does a blind cripple have to do around here to get a piece of cake?"

Both Julia and her mother immediately sprang from their seats, but it was Lydia who was the first to dart for the kitchen. "You two stay seated," Lydia said. "I'll get it."

Scott watched her go, vaguely curious at this family so eager to please. His eyes drifted back to the old man. He guessed that this man must be Julia's father and the "shithead," he'd referred to must have been himself. _How pleasant,_ Scott thought to himself. He watched as the elderly man shifted his weight in the chair. He noticed that the blind man had no legs. They had both been amputated, it seemed, above the knees.

"Be nice, Chester," Mary said, though there was no rebuke in her voice. "Scott, this is my husband."

Scott's only response was a nod. He sipped the bright red fruit punch that had been handed to him with the cake. The liquid was practically all sugar, but he was thirsty. And it gave him an excuse not to speak.

"Oh, that's right!" Chester replied loudly. "Julia told us you'd lost your memories. Pretty convenient if you ask me…"

Lydia emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate and a cup, plastic utensils sticking from the pocket in her blue jeans. She carefully handed each item to the old man, guiding his hands. Chester impatiently grasped the plate and cup, spilling some of the bright red liquid on his grey shirt in the process.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Lydia cried. "I'll get some napkins…"

"Forget it," Chester said. "You got a fork?" He stretched out his hand and Lydia deposited the fork in his palm. He jerked it out of her hand and immediately started noisily shoveling in cake.

"You shouldn't be eating that, Daddy," Julia said. "It's too much sugar."

"I'll eat whatever I damn well please."

Scott shot the old man a dirty look. Out of politeness, he kept his mouth shut, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd met such an unpleasant person. Stranger still, it seemed that the entire family was happy to let him be rude. In fact, all appearances indicated that they catered to him, encouraged the selfish attitude. He shook his head. This man was definitely no Charles Xavier. They might have shared modes of locomotion and hair styles, but the similarities definitely ended there.

"So when are you going back to work?" Chester asked.

The old man was 'looking' straight at him. Scott wondered how he'd zoned in on his location without him saying anything, but he didn't devote much attention to it. The question was surpassingly more tricky.

"I'm not sure," Scott said. "I don't think I'll be going back to work as a police…"

"Why not?"

Scott paused. There were lots of reasons. The fact that he had never trained to be a policeman was far from the least one of them. The greater reason—

"I'd guess he's got some legal problems to take of," John interjected. "Maybe some jail time."

Scott looked over at the large-headed man, and his eyes narrowed when he saw the man's wicked grin. _In-laws,_ Scott thought.

Julia stood up again, interrupting before the conversation could go any further. "He's already helping out, Daddy. He was doing odd-jobs this morning. He'll work when he can. Now, how about we head into the game room where there's more room?"

There were some grumblings. Everyone made their way out of the living room with varying speed. "I'll go get Rachel," Julia announced.

Scott, still sitting, looked over at her. He'd almost forgotten that the little girl was their supposed reason for visiting. "Do you think that's a good idea?" Mary said. "Shouldn't you let the girl sleep?"

"She's been waiting so long for this," Julia replied. "I can't let her sleep through it."

Mary nodded and watched her daughter vacate the room with crossed arms. She then turned and smiled at Scott. "C'mon, dear. Follow me. Do you play pool?"

His mind was following Julia up the stairs, towards the young girl who believed he was her father—the father she barely knew. How could he give her the affection she deserved? Once again, Scott pondered whether he had made a wise decision by playing along. True, there was every indication he owed Julia some kind of compensation, but the potential for great harm to both Julia and young Rachel was becoming more and more apparent, for he _would_ leave one day. _Hopefully,_ he thought, _they'll have their Scott Summers back, then. Whoever that is._

"Scott?" Mary asked, snapping him from his thoughts.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I used to be pretty good," he said absent-mindedly. With the statement said aloud, a new thought sprung into Scott's mind. He wasn't just good at pool, he'd always been excellent. For as long as he could remember, he'd been able to calculate angles of reflection with instinctual ease, so that he could successfully complete extremely complicated, ricocheted shots with his optic blasts. He, and the Professor, had always assumed this ability stemmed from his body's adaptations to accompany his mutant powers. Scott's brow furled as he began contemplating the possibilities and their meanings as to whether or not he still possessed this "secondary" ability.

He followed Mary as she waddled her way down a series of ramps and through various room, all clean and neatly (and abundantly) decorated. Finally, they descended into a large room sporting a pool table, table tennis, a card table, and a few other odds and ends. Littered on the carpeted floor were stools and chairs of various sizes and styles, many of which were already occupied by the various houseguests.

Scott watched intently as John snatched a pool cue from the rack on the wall. He stepped forward, past Mary, determined to test his geometric capabilities on the pool table. His heart began pumping with adrenaline. He scolded himself for getting excited, but the feeling remained. There was a chance a part of his old life still existed. He had to find out…

"Scott," Julia's voice called behind him. "There's someone here to see you…"

He took a couple more steps. He was within arm's reach of the pool table. His hand stretched out and his fingers tapped the polished wood. He turned slowly to see Julia standing in the doorway holding young Rachel by the hand. As he watched, Rachel rubbed her eyes furiously, still wiping the sleep from them. Her hair was frizzed and wild from tossing in the bed, and she wore white pajamas with "footsies," the kind only grandparents would buy, much less force upon a girl of Rachel's age. Despite his anxiety, the sight forced a smile onto Scott's lips.

"Rachel," he said.

Scott's mind drifted to the image of the Rachel Summers he'd known. When they'd first been introduced, she was still rough and edgy. At the time, he'd wondered if she was as distant with everyone as she was with him. He would eventually learn that she avoided him because she didn't know whether or not to tell him that she was his daughter… albeit one from a seemingly alternate future. Through the months and years that followed, Rachel had softened considerably, though she lost none of her fighting edge. He'd grown proud of her on many levels. Unfortunately, it seemed that their relationship was doomed to failure, as he had been forced to choose between the affections of a daughter he'd never birthed or the love of Emma Frost.

As the young Rachel before him dropped her mother's hand and ran towards him, Scott knelt and returned her powerful embrace and wondered, not for the first time, if he'd made the right decision. He had no doubt Emma loved him, in her own way. Sometimes, he just couldn't help wondering how that compared to the love of a daughter.

He pushed the thoughts from his mind. Those were concerns he'd debated before and were certainly for another time. Rachel released his throat and looked deeply into his eyes.

"You're awake," she said, smiling.

"So it seems," Scott said, returning the smile. There was a silence. Scott was more used to dealing with teenagers, and even then he wasn't exactly proficient. He was aware of several sets of eyes, watching them and waiting for them to say something. Luckily, Rachel didn't seem to be the shy type.

"Mommy said you forgot lots of things while you were asleep," she said. "Did you?"

Scott hesitated to answer. He finally decided that answering in the positive would not only be the simplest course for him but also be the least confusing for her young mind. "Yes," he said. "She's right."

"Do you remember me?"

The question was asked so simply in her tiny, high-pitched voice. Scott looked into her eyes and saw a fragility. Though her lips were still curled into a smile, he recognized the traits of a question that carried more weight than the asker pretended to give it. His eyes darted to Julia, still standing in the doorway. Her hand was over her mouth. He expected her to shake her head, give him a clue as to how he should answer. She did not.

He looked back at Rachel. "I know you," he said. "Your name is Rachel, and you're my daughter. But I've been asleep for a very long time." He placed his hand on the girl's shoulder. His hand felt enormous as it draped gently across her bony frame. "You might have to be patient with me and maybe even help me out from time to time. Can you do that?"

She nodded slowly, clearly deep in thought. "I'll help," she said. "As long as you let me keep Jaws."

Scott's brow furled, and he looked to Julia yet again.

"Her stuffed dog," she whispered/said.

"Oh!" Scott said. "Sure, you can keep Jaws."

Rachel hugged him again, but quicker this time, as if relieved of a horrible weight and overjoyed at the sensation. There were several "awwws" from observers around the room. Rachel turned and ran to her mother's side. "Did you hear? He said I could keep him!"

"I told you he would," Julia replied softly. She looked at Scott and smiled and shrugged softly. Rachel asked her mother if she could go and get Jaws from her room. Julia approved. Before leaving, the child turned and entreated Scott with her dark eyes yet again.

"Daddy," Rachel continued. "Can we be friends?"

There were laughs around him, and one particularly loud groan. "Of course, Rachel," Scott said. "We'll be great friends."

With that, light footsteps raced up the ramp and disappeared into the house.

"Are we gonna play some pool, or not?" John's voice boomed behind Scott.

"Sure," Scott said, rising from the floor. He turned and shot his large-headed "brother-in-law" an annoyed glare. "Let's play some pool."


	26. Games

_This isn't working._

Scott's jaw was set with irritation and he swore inwardly as the white cue, stained with blue chalk, rolled past the orange striped ball he'd been aiming for. He leaned up from the table and wiped the sweat that was beading on his forehead. The family had gathered around to watch John and him play, and he was losing. Horribly. _I just don't understand it,_ he told himself. _What is wrong with me?_

He knew what the obvious answer was—he'd simply lost his ability. But he almost found _that_ more difficult to believe than the fact that he'd lost his optic blasts. _Isn't there anything left of the life I used to know?_

"This just isn't your night," John said as he approached the pool table. He was wearing a confident smile. "I guess that coma took more than your memory."

"John!" his wife Lydia cried out.

He simply laughed and bent over, carefully lining up his shot. With a crack and a smack, the balls made contact, and then his target fell quietly into the mesh pocket. "_That's _how it's done, partner," John declared proudly.

Scott was not new to competition. He had, in the past, reluctantly allowed the X-Men to coax him into playing games with them. So he understood that some people needed to "talk trash." Under his current mood, and his feelings towards John being what they were, he was finding it very hard to keep his cool.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He started when a hand touched his back. He turned, only to see Julia's face smiling back at him. "It's okay," she said softly. Her hand circled slowly on his back, and it sent chills down his spine and they spun behind his knees. Goose bumps jumped to the surface of his skin where she'd touched him, as her touch was cool and relaxed whereas he was nothing but tension and chaos within. "Don't let him get to you."

"He isn't," Scott said, though he knew he was lying. His hands were wringing the pool cue like he was choking the life out of it. "I just thought I could do better."

"You can," Julia said, giving his shoulder a final light squeeze. "Just relax."

"Don't sweat it, Scotty boy," Jeremy called out. With all of the excitement, Scott had almost forgotten the man who claimed to be his partner had ever been at the party.

He took another breath, letting it escape slowly from his pursed lips. There were a couple yells of excitement as John's next shot rolled dangerously close to the pocket. The shouts reached a crescendo as the cue dropped in.

"Damn!" John exclaimed. He yanked the ball from the pocket and tossed it in Scott's direction.

There was a loud smack as the hard cue hit Scott's palm, but he caught it securely. His hand immediately began to throb, and he focused on the pain, letting its rhythm accomplish what he wasn't having any success doing himself—clear his mind, find direction.

He placed the ball on the green felt, sliding it gently across the soft surface. _Alright,_ he told himself. _This is it._ For a few seconds, he stared at the balls, trying to see each ball's location and relation to the others, and then he focused on the table as a whole. He closed his eyes, allowing the image spread before him to linger in his mind's eye.

With all of his concentration, he separated himself from his surroundings. He removed the people: their eyes on his back and their voices. He closed his mind to the music playing from somewhere. _See the balls,_ he told himself, and the various colors floated in darkness, in empty space in his mind. _See the table._ At his mental command, he saw the empty green plane, though it spread into eternity in every direction. _See the pockets._ Holes appeared in the plane, glowing a bright yellow, and the green around them disappeared.

His brow furled as he struggled to put them all together. The mental image came back, with all of the different elements again visible in his mind. _See their connections, see the consequences._

A sharp pain struck Scott in his temples, but he didn't drop the image. He pushed through the rush of pain that only seemed to intensify as his concentration increased. Finally, slowly, he could see them… In his mind he could see the cue ball moving, he could see the lines connecting the balls, angles and figures, and then he saw it. The shot. It seemed to glow in white on the green, and then the table, the balls, and the pockets disappeared, and there was only the white path.

Scott opened his eyes. For a split second, he could have sworn the room was blanketed in red. He blinked, and the red was gone, but the path was still there. He bent, pulled back his cue which was balanced on rock solid hands, and struck the white ball. This time, his aim was true. In fact, the shot that followed was nothing short of miraculous. Before the ball came to rest, it had struck all four rails and knocked in three of Scott's striped targets.

There was a resounding shout of applause and praise. Scott felt arms wrap themselves around him in a warm embrace, but he wasn't ready to celebrate yet. His face was locked with determination. Rumblings of excitement swarmed in his stomach, yet he was only marginally conscious of the effect. In fact, as he walked around the table, again forcing his thoughts to focus, the room seemed to fall into silence.

He repeated his previous process, breaking down the layout of the table, only this time his eyes were opened. Everything seemed to be easier, and to go much faster, until he tried to calculate the angles, to see the spatial relationships. The second he forced his mind in that direction, stabbing pains again rammed into his temples. His stomach heaved with a sudden burst of nausea. He gripped the table, his teeth grinding in a snarl, but he forced himself to continue. Gradually, slower than before, the shot he needed to take illuminated before him.

He lifted his cue, pointing to each ball as he called them out. "Twelve ball in the far left corner. Nine ball in the right side corner, and the eight in the far right."

"You gotta be kiddin' me," Scott heard John say as if the voice were a ghost's floating behind his ears. His attention was singular as he hurriedly bent and sent the cue ball rolling, eager to rid himself of the headache and discomfort his efforts were causing him.

Once again, the white cue ball followed the path he'd seen in his mind, bouncing off of rails and balls of phenolic resin until it came to a halt, directly after driving its momentum into the black eight ball, which quietly and with agonizing slowness dropped into the corner he'd called.

Only now did Scott allow a broad and genuine smile to spread slowly across his face. It was there. He was still here. He was still the man he'd once been. He couldn't understand where the pain was coming from, but at least one of his abilities, whether natural or mutant in nature, still existed.

He lay his cue stick onto the table, still smiling. "Good game," he said, looking at John.

"You are a certified freak," John said, throwing his cue stick on the table.

The arrogant man probably couldn't have made a poorer word choice. Scott sighed heavily, though, refusing to be baited by something he'd been called for all of his adult life.

"How did you do that?" Julia said. Her face was below his, and she was close, but Scott was barely conscious of Julia's words. His mind was still reeling with joy. Finally, he had something to cling to. Some reason for hope that he would find a way to return to the life he knew before.

"I don't know," was all he said.

Jeremy came up and slapped Scott on the back, congratulating him. Scott gave a polite nod, but he wasn't really paying attention. He was replaying the previous moments in his mind over and over again, making sure he wasn't dreaming and that it had all really happened as he remembered it.

When he receded from his inner thoughts, he found that he was seated and that Julia and Lydia were now competing at the pool table. John was on the other side of the room, sitting next to his father in the wheelchair. Scott caught them glaring at him unapologetically. He returned the stare for a moment, and then turned his attention to the table, though his mind began to wander.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Scott's mind was filled with a not-too-distant memory. He was sitting next to the pool at Xavier's, the outdoor one. It was a sunny day, exceptionally hot. He was chaperoning as several squads of students enjoyed splashing around. He remembered sitting on the life guard chair above them, watching them play, and longing for the days that Warren, Hank, Bobby, and he had been in that same pool, splashing and laughing. All of them stealing glances at Jean in her bikini when they thought nobody was looking. They had been good times. He even remembered a smile coming to his face as Mercury and Jubilee had climbed out of the pool and started dancing to some song that was blaring from the radio…

The same song that was playing now! Scott's mind snapped into the present, and he was on his feet, searching for the radio. _I know that song,_ he thought. _I've heard it before. But how long ago was that? That wasn't two years ago…_

"What is that?" Scott asked.

"What is what?" Julia asked, not looking up from the table.

"Where's that radio?" Scott searched the room, which suddenly seemed three times larger than it had been just moments before. The music began to shift, and a different song altogether began to play. "Shit! Where is it?"

Finally, he found the small black tape player, sitting on a stool. It was empty. The song wasn't on a tape. It had been playing on the radio. _Maybe the DJ will say the song's name. I need to find out how old that song is._

"What's wrong?" Julia said. She put down her cue and walked towards him with a concerned expression on her face.

"That song that just played, what is it called? How old is it?"

"Oh, shoot," she said. "I wasn't even paying any attention. Did you notice Lydia? What was that song just playing?"

"Ooohhh, I'm terrible with that kind of thing," she said with a dismissive gesture.

He turned to Jeremy, who was chatting with Julia's mother, only to receive a quick shrug in between excited sentences.

_Calm down,_ Scott told himself. _Just listen for the DJ. You might be on to something here, but it might be nothing._

"What in the world difference does it make?" John said. "I never took you for the dancing type, Scotty boy."

Scott's jaw clenched, but he kept quiet, focusing his hearing on the radio. John continued to talk, but Scott didn't reply. Finally, a man's voice came over the airwaves, but he only mentioned the name of the radio station and then started talking about the weather.

His fingers tightened into a fist. He looked at John. "Did you hear the song? Do you know it?"

"Boy, you are looney tunes," John replied and he turned away from Scott.

Scott Summers stepped forward, his voice deepening, unintentionally taking a commanding tone usually reserved for emergencies. "It's a simple question," he said. "Why don't you try not being a creep for two seconds and just answer it."

"It's a damn song. Get a grip."

"It's _not _just a song!" Scott yelled. He grabbed the tape recorder from the stool and hurled it. It whizzed past John's head, spinning like a boomerang, and flew into a dozen pieces when it smashed into the wall.

"Hey, that was _my _tape recorder!" Julia's father added to the sudden chaos.

John, who had ducked instinctively, turned and stormed towards Scott, his chest out and his face volcanic. Scott stood his ground, his fists readied but still at his sides. He'd lost control for an instant, but he knew better than to attack a man.

Both men were breathing heavily and fuming through their nostrils when Julia stepped between them, holding her hands out. "Enough!" she cried. "We're leaving!" She took Scott's hand and pulled him towards the door. "Mom, would you bring Rachel to the car? I'll be right back to get her things."

He allowed himself to be escorted out, until he finally pulled his hand loose when they were on the porch. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Just get in the car," Julia said as she unlocked the doors. She took the keys with her as she headed back into the house.


End file.
